Vigilant
by ChaosLydia
Summary: How Mathew Williams lost his voice and became invisible. This is an extremely dark Holocaust fic. This is apart of the Realms universe.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a very difficult fic for me to write, but I am writing it with a purpose in mind. It will become more apparent in the final chapter.**

**Yes. I have done my research. This is the first of many parts, but I am taking my time writing it. You really don't understand how difficult this is for me to write. I hope you read with an open mind.**

**Enjoy.**

"I don't like this!"

Matthew Williams turned and stared at his father, frowning as the Frenchman begged with his eyes for him to stay. He had stated his dislike about the situation already about 20 times in the last five minutes, but the Canadian refused to deter from their plan. Rumors of some kind of camp trickled out of the Germany, but there was no way to be sure without confirmation. This mission was dangerous: go to Germany and try to find out what was actually going on. Massive amounts of people disappeared by the day in Eastern Europe according to Ivan, people who weren't even soldiers. It worried all of the Nation People. A nation was its people and countries like Poland, Austria, and Czechoslovakia had drastically become weak and weaker over the last couple years.

The plan was set. Since the other Allies were essential to the fighting, Matthew volunteered himself. With blond hair, violet eyes, knew enough German to get by, and couldn't die, he felt like he was perfect for the job.

Now Matthew stood in the woods with Francis, Arthur, and Alfred on the border of France and Germany. Dressed in a stolen German uniform, he readjusted the pack on his back and smiled to his family.

"Papa," he spoke softly hugging Francis, "I'm going to be okay. I can take care of myself."

Francis held on to his son a few extra moments, kissing his cheek. Voice strangled and holding back tears, he nodded, "I know."

Arthur patted Matt's shoulder before hugging him uncharacteristically, "Keep your head low, lad, and don't stir up trouble."

"I won't."

Alfred launched himself at the Canadian hugging him so tight that Matt thought he would snap in half, "Come back, okay! For once, I don't want to be the Hero and have to come save you."

"I promise, Al. I'm coming back guys!" Slinging the German rifle on his shoulder—it was much heavier than what he was used to—he add softly, "I love you all. I'll be back in a few weeks."

Murmuring their goodbyes back, the three of them watch Matthew Williams cross into enemy territory alone.

The first few days were fairly smooth. Matthew didn't talk to anyone, was able to steal a car to cross the country faster. In the towns, no one questioned him. But the further and further he drove to German territory, the more unsettled he became. He quickly realized when he passed through cities that the dialect of the German language was changing. Some places had a thicker accent or mixed with Swiss or Austrian. It sunk to a point where he couldn't make out the words of those around him, and Matthew realized how much trouble he truly was in. He had made it close to Hamburg, wishing he could enjoy the scenery. Germany truly was a beautiful country, which sadden him they were enemies. If the Allies kept advancing, all this would probably be bombed. Matt etched all the sights into his memory, and continued on.

One afternoon in the second week of his mission, Matthew passed into the town square and flopped on the fountain's edge. It had been quite a long day. Car running out of gas, he walked the rest of the way to the city. Tipping his head down, trying not to draw attention to himself, Matt unfolded his map and studied it. Another day of driving—three days if he walked—and Matt would be in Hamburg. He needed to switch clothes soon. His military outfit drew too much attention. Already four soldiers asked where his platoon and higher commanding officers were. Luckily, Ivan made him fake papers to get by and taught him in German how to answer those questions. Ivan also taught him how to say, "I'm on leave due to injury," to not be bothered either.

So it didn't surprise him while he rested on the fountain that a soldier, an officer for that matter, tapped him on the shoulder. Like all the others, he asked Matt for his papers and rank.

"Ja!" Matt saluted the officer and held out his papers. Unlike the other soldiers, his next question was not about why he wasn't with his platoon.

Instead, the officer raised a critical eyebrow and studying the Canadian still saluting him. Flipping the papers around so Matt could see them, he pointed to the name of the officer written in.

" Third Officer Hans Obuch? From Hamburg?" he asked his accent thick but Matt could just make it out. "He gave you permission?"

"Ja," Matt swallowed the lump in his throat, hating the beads of sweat starting to form on his temples.

The man chuckled reading over the papers once more. Holding them up in front of Matt's face, he shredded them down the center and threw them at the Canadian. The officer pulled out his pistol and aimed it between Matt's eyes.

In simple German for Matt to understand, he chuckled, "My name is Hans Obuch. I am a third officer from Hamburg. And I don't know you."

Matt remembered the screaming. Lots of screaming as he was forced to his knees and other officers seemed to appear from the air. Arms handcuffed behind him, he was rendered useless and stripped of all his weapons. Within minutes, he was thrown into the back of a prison truck, stinking of fear and urine, riding off to God knew where.

"Oh no," Matt panted shuffling to the back, fighting to keep his balance. Throwing himself with all his might, the doors dented from his Nation Person strength but didn't break. Sprawling back on the floor, unable to rise from his arms behind him, Matt laid in the filth and thought of his family. Francis' singing as he cooked, Arthur's stories over tea, Alfred's silly inventions that he shared with Matt. Eyes burning, Matt squeezed his eyes tight as tears streaked past his temples. Unlike in America, he doubted he would get one phone call in jail.

Matt recalled his unreasonably short trial, if one could even call it a 'trial.' The majority of the time had been spent with a German judge taking one look at him, calling him a spy, and shooing him out the door. Trying his best, the Canadian pleaded in German to speak with Ludwig Weilschmidt or his older brother Gilbert. Of course these humans wouldn't know who Germany or Prussia was. Only the top of the nation's leaders had relations to the Nation People. Matthew truly was left alone.

Another rough truck ride later, Matthew was dumped at a train station. Hundreds, maybe even over a thousand people, waited on the platform, soldiers surrounding them. Shoved into one of the lines, ordered to wait, the Canadian stole the chance to take in his surroundings. The Allies had no reports of anything like this. Everyone had patches sewn on every article of clothing, though Matt just had a pinned on uninverted red triangle added to his jacket. At first, he believed it was just a sign he was a prisoner, but as he took in the surroundings, he noticed other colors on different people. Many of them didn't have triangles, but the Star of David. Were the Jewish? Several didn't have patches yet, but Matt had a feeling they would soon.

Three hours passed, and Matt shivered lightly. Being from Canada, the cold didn't affect him as much, but since no one was allowed to sit, everyone stood in the frigid wind. Already he had seen at least twenty people collapse and be drug away. With so many people in his line of vision, Matt couldn't follow them with his eyes, but every time, he heard gunshots. The imagination filled in the rest. Chewing on his cheek, Matt thought things through since there wasn't much else to do. What was going here? What could the Germans possibly do with all these people? No one in his vicinity was a soldier, which followed the original reports for the Allies. But something felt drastically off. The people disappearing were from countries like Poland. Every person around Matthew spoke German. Could this be a resistance group against the Nazi Party? No, far too many children in the crowd. Maybe they were relocating these families to safety?

"That's dumb," Matt whispered to himself in French, "They wouldn't shoot the people who collapsed. Something is going on here."

"Yes," muttered the gentleman beside him, answering Matt back in French. A human in his 40s, he smiled comfortingly at Matt, his French almost fluent. He shook his head, not in disapproval but more as to notion around them subtly, "You must not be from around here to not recognize this. Most Frenchmen wouldn't be caught dead in a German uniform. You must be a POW."

"I guess so. I was-"

Both men pursed their lips as three guards marched by, brandishing their guns. Their beady eyes gazed over Matt and his new acquaintance, silently daring them to speak. The short staring stalemate broke within moments as another man passed out further down the train platform. Hustling to retrieve him, the guards left them once more.

Slowly exhaling, Matt side glanced at the man once more. He was smiling. The Canadian shook his head, ignoring the nearby gunshot, "How come you seem so happy?"

The man chuckled quietly, shifting his weight and cramming his hands deeper in his pockets, "Sometimes you have to smile to keep yourself from crying."

"You know where we're going don't you?"

"You're really are not from around here are you, Frenchie?"

"Canadian."

"What?"

"I'm Canadian."

His eyes widened, the man's smile grew sadder, "I am truly sorry then. So sorry-"

"Why, what's going on?"

"You're so young. So far away from home."

"Where are we going?"

"Hopefully…"

"Hopefully? Hopefully what!?"

"Dachau. I hope it is Dachau."

Matt's heart throbbed in his ears as the man spoke, fear creeping into the gentleman's deep voice. He turned his face away from Matt, hiding trying to hide his true feelings.

Licking his lips, Matt stuttered, "What's… Dachau?"

"A town."

Gritting his teeth, Matt clenched his fists, his fear jumping to anger at the lack of answers. He resisted all urges to slap the man. Inhaling slowly to regain composure, he asked slow and calm, "And what is in this town?"

Eyes hooding over, the man barely muttered, _"Die Vernichtungslager."_

Shoved forward by an appearing guard, Matt grimaced moving his legs, the muscles whining from their still state. Shooting a glance over his shoulder, the man had that damn smile on his lips and waved to him.

"Goodbye, Frenchie! I pray we meet again!"

The guard passed into the Canadian's line of vision for a second. Craning his neck, Matt sighed. The man was gone.

Slamming the butt of his rifle into his back, the guard barked at him in what Matt assumed was to tell him to hurry. Biting back the pain, the Canadian turned his eyes forward. The train had arrived.

His group, ushered by the guards, filed into the train cars—wait what? Matt pushed up to his tip toes to confirm what he saw. Cattle cars! They were stripped cattle cars! The people in front of him stumbled up the platform, vanishing into the darkness within the car.

"Oh my god… what have I gotten myself into?"

Matt barely remembered how he got into the cattle car. The two women in front of him had cried, their husbands comforting them. The guards came. Then the fight broke out. Panic erupted on the platform, the nearest hundred people closest to him breaking, screaming, running, escaping. Blurs of people, tears, blood swept before his eyes. Gun shots rang out, showering those around him. His feet moving, he dove for shelter to escape the chaos. Suddenly, a slam rang out and Matthew Williams was thrown into darkness.

Mistakenly on instinct, the Canadian had sprinted into one of the cattle cars. Shoulder to shoulder with those around him, the air was already stifling within minutes, musty breaths clamming up his skin. The growing familiar sound of weeping held no comfort for him. Why did he have the sickening suspicion everyone knew where they were going but him?

The train lurched forward, throwing almost everyone to their feet. Matt slammed into the wall but caught himself. In the darkness, he groped helping those around him back up, but the Canadian was jostled to the back wall, trapped, unable to move. Flopping his head back, closing his eyes, the vibrations of the train rattling down his spine as it picked up speed to his unknown destination. Some bright plan this had been, but once he escaped wherever he was going, the Allies would love to hear about this. How awful was it that the Germans shipped their people around in such unsanitary conditions! Nothing could be worse than this, right? The ever tidy Arthur would squirm!

Arthur… Matt's eyes barely opened thinking of his father figure. Had Matt been a good enough child to his parent? Either of his parents? He knew Francis doted on him every moment, but Arthur? It wasn't in the Englishman's nature to openly admit feelings, but Matt knew. Every ruffle of the hair that Arthur gave… pat on the shoulder… tiny, rare smile was an indication of his love for Matt. Though it wasn't as lavish as the Frenchman's words and oaths of forever loving and making love in fields of roses, Matt knew it was Arthur's way of saying he cared for him.

A thick, pungent scent snapped Matt from his thoughts as the tiniest of breezes caught it. Glancing down to his feet, his lip curled in disgust. An empty pail lay on the ground. Though the contents had been empty, some remains stuck to the side. Matt gagged, realizing that it was human waste. That couldn't be the only form of a toilet in this car, could it? Not for all these people!? The Canadian squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the scent. This situation… it began to climb drastically into something bigger. This was cruel. The entire situation was cruel. Even though he was a young nation, he still couldn't fathom the gravity of the circumstance.

Suddenly, Matt opened his eyes. Glancing down once more, he had heard the faintest of whines. A young girl, no older than six shifted from foot to foot, squeezing her knees together. She stared at the bucket, then her eyes darted to the adults around her in fear they would watch her use it. Poor child. Gently pressing two people forward, Matt stepped in front of the little girl, his back to her. Another gentleman beside him also turned his back to her, his shoulder touching the Canadian's in a human screen. The two men nodded to each other in appreciation. Matt turned his eyes towards the ceiling trying to block out any noises as well.

A couple minutes later, Matt felt his jacket shift as the little girl tugged on it. Meeting her eyes, she beamed up to him, her soft brown curls bouncing as the train jolted them around. They stared at each other for several moments before she wrapped her arms around his knees.

"Danke!" she spoke in German so softly that he almost didn't catch it. Matt's heart softened and scooped her up into his arms. Awkwardly shuffling back to his spot by the wall, he rubbed her back, and she shivered against him. The cattle car, far colder than the platform at the train station, was no place for such a small child. Getting an idea, Matt placed her back on the floor—the girl protested for a few seconds with a quivering lip—and he shrugged off his coat. Wrapping her up in it, the sleeves swallowing her, Matt picked her up once more and held her close to him.

"Danke," she muttered again.

Thinking through his sentence to make sure he didn't misspeak, Matt question, "Wo ist deine Mutter?"

"Meine Mutter ist tot."

Poor child, Matt sighed for the umpteenth time. So young to lose someone as important as her mother…

"Wo ist dein Vater?"

"Mein Vater ist tot."

"Oh God," Matt's heart ached for her and held her tighter, nuzzling into her curls. She must have been so scared to be separated from her parents, and now it seemed like she would be alone. No. No, he refused to let this happen to this girl.

Matt shifted her in his arms so she could see him, "Wie heißt du?"

"Ich heiße Heidi."

"Heidi!" Matt beamed down at her, "Das ist eine Gute Namen!"

"Danke Bruder!"

Brother? Yeah, Matt could be her big brother. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Heidi settled against him. The vibrations of the train pulsing through his body quickly lulled her into a sleep.

Three long days, and they were still traveling across the German country side. Matt's muscles screamed at him every time he shifted or moved or helped the other men in the train car move the bodies to a corner. The cold, lack of water, and suffocation had claimed many in the car, but as sad as it was, they had more room to sit. Matt realized how much he really loved sitting.

Heidi sat between his legs, the Canadian's arms firmly wrapped around her waist. The entire trip, if she wasn't in his arms, he held her hand, and never wandered off more than a few feet from his view. Matt stared down at her. Such a sweet girl, bright too, though her cuteness was being snubbed as she gnawed on his leather belt. It had been an old trick that Francis taught him back during the Great War. Pure leather belts could be consumed. Since he was a nation and couldn't die—though that didn't mean his hunger pains could easily be ignored—Matt gave the belt to the child to chew on. As he watched, his mind wondered. He had never truly cared for any children before even though he adored them. Was this what Francis and Arthur had gone through? Worrying if their little ones would make it. Wondering if they were hungry or cold or could have enough decent privacy to even urinate. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to fight off his throbbing temples. Of course his parents had worries for him and Alfred, but probably nothing like this.

But however dark the situation seemed, Heidi remained in good spirits. She had even taught him a children's song in German about—from Matt had gathered— a baby crocodile who lived in Egypt named Schnappi. In return, he taught her songs in French and English. Most of the remaining passengers learned Matt was from Canada, and those of them who could speak French helped translate for him. Small kind gestures warmed his heart. These people, no matter the dire situation, sang with Heidi and him scrounging together as much hope as they could muster.

"Bruder," Heidi tugged on his shirt snapping him from his thoughts, "Wir sind langsamer."

She was right. The train was slowing down. Scooping her up in his arms, silence fell among the car. All the passengers clutched their remaining family, friends, anyone who they bonded with and waited as the train stopped.

They had arrived.

Wherever they were.

Doors flying open, soldiers rushed in bearing their guns shoving everyone from the car. Matt crinkled his nose stepping out into the air. It wasn't as fresh as he had imagined during the ride. Sharp and pungent, the scent sickened him. Something was burning and his gut told him he didn't want to know. Eyes darting around, there were two long fences on either side of him separated by the train tracks. In front of him, men toiled and worked behind the fences in the snow. Matt gawked at them in fear, shielding Heidi's face. Some of the men he stared at were like walking, living skeletons.

"Where the hell are we?" he breathed out, lips trembling in the chilled wind. What kind of Hell had they stepped into?

Shoved forward, the Canadian fell into a queue following the tracks towards a towering smoking building. It wasn't a very long line, the soldiers had already gone through the other cattle cars. The soldiers quickly divided up the families, men shoved one way while their sobbing wives passed off the other. Then they were divided again. The younger children and elderly were separated from people closer to Matt's human age. Then the group was led off towards the smoking building.

Good, Matt thought, at least they'll take Heidi inside to warm up.

Tilting her chin up, Matt tried his best in very broken German to comfort her, "Heidi, listen. You do what the soldiers say. Be a good girl. Don't get in trouble."

"Okay, Bruder," she whimpered wiping her tear filled eyes, "And then we can be together?"

"Yes." Matt glared at the approaching soldiers, whose eyes were stuck on the girl in his arms.

Matthew Williams remembered hugging the girl that one last time. She had kissed his cheek and told him in German that she loved him. He had said he loved her back, and promised they would sing Schnappi again soon. Matthew Williams had willingly handed the girl to the soldier and even smiled and waved her off. Passing through the gates, he had watched her through the fences, hoping that the soldiers would at least give her a warm meal in that smoking building. Their eyes had met one last time before Matt stepped into the inspection building.

Mathew Williams had sobbed later, clawing at his arms realizing his terrible mistake. Mathew Williams had not realized he had entered the gates of Auschwitz II-Birkenau.

**Please read and review.**

**(Yes I know Schnappi was written in 2005. I personally enjoy the song very much)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you all so much for being so patience with this update. Literally I've had 8 papers due in the last three weeks, plus tech week and my show for theatre opening. Add to all that, my senior capstone for college is due Thursday. So I'm burned out and pretty exhausted.**

**But your comments are awesome and so appreciative. You don't even know how good it makes me feel especially after the hard few weeks I've had.**

**To quickly touch on a few reviews:**

**I got several mentions of Gemini Star01's story "Awakening." I need to read it. It's on my list of things to do, but it's good to know if there are others like this fic. Please give me a heads up if you see any more.**

**No, Russia will not be the one to liberate Matt. SPOILER: check the pairing.**

**Okay! Enjoy!**

Matt watched with tear rimmed eyes as waves of blonde drifted off his scalp to the floor. His golden locks, his trademark from Francis, darkened laying in the filth. Blinking back the tears, he only whimpered once as his precious curl was sheered away, floating like a feather to the ground. It was done. All his hair was gone.

He suddenly felt very aware of his head as he felt the chilled air brush his forehead and ears. They felt so big.

Yanking him from the chair, a soldier guided Matt back to the queue that led to the next room. The entire place was featureless—as least Matt couldn't recall the details later in time. He just remembered the overbearing silence stifling the men in line. None of the prisoners dared to speak as long as the gun wielding soldiers lingered nearby.

Finally it was his turn to go into the room. Door slamming shut behind him, Matt saw a man at a table with a variety of needles and inks. Two other soldiers hauled him over to the chair, forcing him down. One kept two hands on his shoulders while the other wrenched up his left sleeve. He held down the exposed arm, palm side up.

The Canadian watched in fascinated horror as the man prepared the filthy looking needle with ink. It sunk in. They were about to tattoo him.

Matt could have thrown them off easily. He could have summoned up his nation person's strength and killed them in seconds. But he would break the first law of the Nation People:

_A Nation Person must never kill a human being unless (a) wartime in battle or (b) extreme circumstances._

Getting a tattoo in Matt's eyes wasn't an extreme circumstance. Besides, he figured the further he could get into this place, the more information he could pass off to the Allies.

Matt grimaced as the needle tore in, watching as six numbers blemished hi snow white skin.

582679.

Still oozing blood, they hauled him up and led him out of a second door in the room. Another guarded shuffle down another featureless hall followed by waiting in another line—by now Matt had lost all sense of direction in the building—he found himself standing in a medical examination room. Several doctors hustled around and manhandled the naked prisoners. When it was his turn, the Doctor snarled at Matt in slurred German with a thick, throaty, Northern dialect. He might as well been a barking sea lion.

One of the soldiers shouldered his gun and ripped Matt's shirts and jacket clear from his body. Followed by his pants and underwear, Matt shivered barefoot on the grit covered floor, naked as the morning he came from the North American wilderness.

Fat, stubby fingers dug into his chin, forcing it down. The tongue depressor jabbed his tonsils, and Matt fought to keep down the bile in his empty stomach. Part of his mind wondered if this man was a real doctor. Poking, prodding, stretching his arms almost too far, cupping his testicles, gripping harder, Matt withstood the forced examination with only a few squeaks here and there. Honestly, what was the point for any of this?

Finally, with a small flashlight, the doctor examined the Canadian's eyes. He quickly stepped back.

"Anzug Augen?" he muttered, jotting it down on a clipboard. Taking a few more looks, his chest pressing against Matt's bare one, the doctor finally dismissed the still naked Matt with the soldiers.

Leading him out, their last stop was a changing room. Piles of pants and shirts lay in the corner, and one of the soldiers nudged Matt towards the piles. Dressing in the itchy clothes—wishing he had some sort of undergarments—Matt had the distinct feeling of nervousness. The stench of sweat, dirt, soot, and ammonia wafted off the pile, and he knew instantly he was dressed in a dead man's clothes.

For a moment, he worried about the stench sinking into his hair—if he had any hair.

A few days later, Matt grunted as the shovel caught a bit of clay. His hands burned, ooze seeping from this busted blisters. But he had to keep working, never stop, work, work, you don't work you get a worse job or get shot, sun up to sun down, sometimes late into the night, sometimes working through meals, if you got a meal, little to no water, work through the cold, you were lucky if they let you wear the wooden shoes that were purposely made to be too big—though they deformed your feet, you wouldn't get frostbite and your puss from your blisters helped insulate them—working as the snow wrapped around their shoulders, work through the raw, red fingers, work to where…

Matt couldn't quite remember how many days he had been there. It all blended together as one day of work followed by another. Had he been there four days? Five? Six? A week?

"Oy! Dummkopf!"

Matt glanced up from the hole he toiled on with some fear in his eyes. The soldiers rarely talked to them unless it was orders or threats. But to his surprise, they escorted a man who already held a hoe. From afar, he looked just like Matt with a shaved head and similar clothing. But once he was close enough, Matt nearly dropped his shovel. That damn smile! It was the man he had talked with at the train station. His eyes lit up in recognition as well once close enough to Matt, but neither one of them spoke.

Hopping down into the hole beside Matt, the man listened to the soldiers bark a few orders to them, and he just smiled and saluted the soldiers. Once they marched away and were out of earshot, the man pulled Matt into a hug and laughed.

"Frenchie! Oh my God, you're alive!" he pulled back, slapping Matt on the back.

Grimacing, Matt couldn't help but to smile at the friendly face. Chuckling, he nodded and patted the man's arm in return, "And you are too! I can't believe it. After the station-"

"I can't believe you didn't get shot in that!"

"And then I got here-"

"Definitely not Dachau."

"And… yeah."

They stood in silence again, not sure what to say, but they still held each other close. Two men, holding onto the last memories of their lives before this hellish place. Neither one wished to let go without something more. So Matt made the first move.

Holding out his hand, he beamed, "Matthew Williams. From Canada. Pleased to meet you."

The man chuckled and shook his hand, "Klaus Trimmel. Pleasure is mine, Frenchie."

"Are you going to keep calling me that?"

Trimmel just laughed and whistled at the hole they stood in, "So what are we digging? A grave?"

"Yep."

"Oh, I was joking."

Matt rolled his eyes, "There is no humor in this place."

As more countless days passed, Matt and Trimmel became very close. The two of them ate together, worked together, marched together, slept by each other. They're whispered talks during their shifts informed Matt more of what had happened in Germany the last few years: Kristallnacht, the ghettos, the work camps, and then the death camp (which they realized they were in, but as long as the two of them behaved they were fine. Both men were willing to work hard for their lives, and the soldiers realized their worth). All of it fell into some plan that Germany's Boss held for what he considered to be the trash of the world.

"Anyone who's not Arian," Trimmel muttered over their meal, "See that guy over there?" He turned around to gander at the soldier.

While he was distracted, Matt slipped all his food onto Trimmel's plate. The Canadian couldn't starve to death, though it was hard to ignore his growling stomach longing for the gruel.

"What about that guy?"

"He's blond haired, blue eyed," the older man turned back around, not realizing the extra food, "That's what they want."

"Eh!?" Matt scoffed, "But Hitler's not even blond!"

"Exactly!"

"Jesus," the Canadian picked at a quarter sized piece of dead skin from his palm, "How do you know all of-"

They fell silent as two soldiers marched by, eyeing them.

But once cleared, Matt finished his question, "How do you know all of this?"

"I'm in the resistance," Trimmel finished the last of the gruel, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "I was captured, went to Dachau first, escaped, then was recaptured again. See that's the difference. Dachau is just a work camp. None of this killing stuff was there when I visited. Luckily, they hadn't tattooed me there. I would have been shot on sight."

"Ah."

The two of them hopped up and marched back outside, snow sloshing around their feet. Circling around behind a few buildings, they returned to the pile that they had worked on before dinner. Matt gripped the dead man's arms while Trimmel took his legs. Without a second thought, they tossed the corpse down onto the other twenty below in the pit.

That night Matt sighed as Trimmel pulled him closer. They shared the unpadded bunk with two other men, the four of them laying on their sides. It was about as wide as a twin bed. But the four of them rotated every night to brace the cold and kept each other warm. Now Matt pressed up against Trimmel, their foreheads resting on each others. Light snores or nightmarish whimpers from the other men broke the silence, but Trimmel and Matt just stared at each other. They could barely make out their features in the frigid darkness, but they had come to learn each other's presence. The Canadian, who felt the urge to protect the human who was so subjected and delicate to all the elements here, and the older man, who watched over Matt like he was a child making sure he was warm or had enough to eat. Matt smiled as Trimmel kissed his forehead. He was so much like Francis. How Matt missed his family and knew deep down how they would react even if Matt was just the slightest bit cold…

_Young Matt peaked behind a cracked open door into the living room, hours after his bed time. It was just a little too chilly in his small cabin bedroom, and he hoped the man he was looking for was still awake._

_Arthur's head had flopped back onto the couch, his eyes closed from exhaustion. The papers he had been studying had long since slid from his lap onto the floor. Though this man had taken him from his father, Matt had come to adore him. His proper ways, his crimson coat faded from the sea air, his tea. Though, Matt could live without his cooking. Arthur didn't always show affection and sometimes called him Alfred—whoever that was—but he always listened to Matt, held him, kissed his boo-boos. He had even told Matthew he loved him. Though it wasn't as often as Francis, it was enough for Matt._

_A knock on the front door snapped Arthur's head up and caused Matt to hide behind the cracked door. Swearing about the late visitor, Arthur flung open the front door and gawked._

"_What the bloody hell do you want, frog!?"_

_Francis shook off his jacket from the clinging snow and stepped in, "I came to visit Matthew."_

"_I didn't give you permission to!" Arthur huffed but still closed the door behind the Frenchmen, "Besides, he's already gone to bed."_

"_Ah, Arthur, Obviously you don't know my child at all."_

"_What does that mean?"_

_Matt gasped as boots rang out coming towards his bedroom. Scuttling back and diving into his bed, Matt threw his arms around his grunting polar bear and squeezed his eyes shut. Just in time, the door opened and the boots crossed the floor, stopping by the bed._

_Arthur spoke in a whisper first, "See, he's asleep."_

"_Mathieu," Francis said softly, "You're awake, aren't you?"_

_The little boy couldn't hold it in at all. "Oui, Papa!" he cried, springing up and launching into Francis' arms. Laughing through the nuzzles, they held each other tight, missing each other from the last few months. Francis' deep chuckles vibrated through the little boy's body as he scooped Matt up._

"_It is too cold for you to sleep in here by yourself! Arthur, you leave my poor boy in the cold!" Francis ignored a protesting Arthur as he carried the child back to the living room where the fireplace, "You will come sit with us and sleep where it is warm."_

_Plopping Matt down, Francis draped an arm around the child and fondly watched as Matt buried his plump cheeks into the Frenchman's lap. Realizing he had lost, Arthur shrugged off that faded coat and covered Matt with it. Now warm, safe, and extremely happy, the boy yawned as his eyelashes suddenly became weighted. He remembered Arthur sitting beside him and two voices saying:_

"_I love you, Matthew."_

"_Je t'aime, __Mathieu."_

"Matthew!" Trimmel's voice broke his thoughts as Matt snapped his head up, "Are you alright?"

"Yes," Matt sniffled realizing there were tears on his cheeks.

Trimmel wiped at them with his calloused fingertips, joking softly, "You were crying and smiling like a fool at the exact same time. I thought you had snapped."

Matt shook his head, snuggling closer to the man as a draft passed by, "No, I was just thinking about my parents. I… I…"

"Miss them?"

Matt nodded, sniffling again thinking of Francis' smile, bright as the sun, and Arthur's arm, the embodiment of strength and protection.

Trimmel grinned that damn smile and asked, "What are they like? Your family."

Matt couldn't help but to smirk, "Well both of my fathers are crazy!"

"Two dads?" Trimmel laughed, "I see."

"And one's French while the other is English."

"Lots of fighting then?"

"Tons, but they care for each other deep down. And then there's my older brother, Alfred, who is loud and obnoxious, but he has a good heart and he's super strong. Though he can be an idiot at times, like really thick." Matt paused unsure whether to ask his next question. But he didn't want to be rude. "What about you? What's your family like?"

Trimmel smiled once again, but it was different, like the one he shot Matt at the train station. It was very sad. With no joking tones, he muttered, "I lost my wife two years ago."

"Oh God, I'm sorry."

"I am too, but she wouldn't have been," he emptily chuckled, "She was as stubborn as a mule and very opinionated. But she had a very noble death, one to be proud of. She saved her child's life… a mother's greatest wish in war time. Sophie allowed enough time for my son and I to flee, but I regret leaving her behind. I regret it every day of my life. I'm just… a coward."

Matt stroked his cheek, "No, she chose it… right?"

Brushing his lips over Matt's forehead, Trimmel nodded, "The stubborn woman ran out the door before I could stop her. Kissed me, our boy, and went to face the soldiers. Crazy, crazy woman."

Matt couldn't help but to laugh, "She would have to be crazy to marry you. So, you have a son? He's not here is he?" He hoped that Trimmel's boy wasn't taken to that smoking building like Heidi had been. Matt's chest tightened at the thought.

Trimmel shifted around, groaning as his shoulders popped, "No, no. I stuck him on the last boat to Norway. Two months later, I got a letter from a friend saying he made it. So now I just got to make it through here and go pick him up."

Releasing the breath he subconsciously held, Matt said, "Well then I'll protect you. You should stop worrying about me, and focus on getting out for your son."

"I'm going to protect you too. You're not much older than him, Frenchie."

"But I don't need your protection!"

"What are you talking about? You're not immortal."

"That's just it though!"

"What is?"

"I am…" Matt hesitated realizing the hole he was starting to dig himself in.

"You are what? Immortal?"

Matt stared up into Trimmel's eyes. If Trimmel knew the truth, maybe he wouldn't protest so much or allow Matt to give him food. He needed to survive and get out to his child. But Matt would be breaking the second rule of a nation person:

_A Nation Person must never tell a human who they are unless it is their national leaders: politically and military. Doing so will result in extreme punishments._

Well, this was an extreme situation. Unlike Rule one, Rule two had no parameters about being a prisoner of war in a death camp trying to save a joking, good natured father wanting to survive to see his son. Licking his slightly trembling lips, Matt whispered, "Trimmel, I am immortal… I am Canada."

**Read and Review. I was going to add way more to this chapter, but when I hit eight pages, I figured I should break it up. Finals are in two weeks so I probably won't update this or Northern Lights until break. Thank you all for being amazing!**


	3. Chapter 3

**I had to split this chapter. When I originally planned all this out, I had this still apart of chapter 2. But it hit eight pages and I knew it would be waaaaay too much for one chapter. I know I'm busy but I couldn't leave myself hanging, especially when I'm about to jump into finals. Tonight is like my last free night so I wanted to bang this out so forgive me if the writing isn't up to par. I try to edit all my work at least three or four times before posting.**

**I like you guys' enthusiasm! It's very much appreciated! Though, I do have a new poll up on my profile. Because I'm writing Northern Lights and Vigilant at the same time, I've been switching focus back and forth on them. But which one would you guys like to see more of? Looking at my story stats, Vigilant has 3 chapters less than N.L. but it has almost the same amount of reviews and story alerts. Does that mean you guys want Vigilant more? Or are two different audiences reading the two stories? Or what? So just let me know. I want to please you guys.**

**Address a few reviews right fast:**

**Kiesha: You're on the right track. Good guessing about future chapters.**

**Everyone: I'm glad you like Trimmel. I believe OCs should enhance the main characters, not steal focus. The story is still about Matt, but also about the relations he makes here. **

**Everyone: Why are people commenting with stuff like "I nearly had a heart attack when I realized there were only two chapters?" Not that I'm complaining, but I just don't understand the reasoning behind it. What's the difference between this story having two chapters or twenty?**

**Okay on with the story!**

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"What?" Trimmel chuckled, clearly confused by the statement, "I know that you're Canadian. You correct me twelve times a day."

"No, no it's not that!" Matt gripped him a little harder, "I am _Canada_. Every nation has a Nation Person, a personification of their nation that helps the leaders of the run their countries. I am Canada."

Trimmel fell silent, staring at Matt as if he had just mutated into a grotesque spider, "Matthew, I think... Are you even listening to what you're saying? You need to get some sleep, because I think you're delusional."

Matt frowned, realizing that Trimmel thought he was either lying or mad, "No, it's true. I am- Oh!" Pulling back his hands, Matt showed the palms to him, "Look! Oh shit, it's dark. Um, feel!" He snatched Trimmel's hand and made the man run his fingers over his palms, "See, no more blisters. Remember at dinner? I was pulling the skin off and now there are none there."

Trimmel frowned and touched Matt's hands, but was unsure what to say, "S-so? You heal fast-"

"Abnormally fast! It's because my country and its people are fine. If I was, say, France right now, it would take me longer to heal because his country is so torn up."

"Matt you're being ridiculous," Trimmel's voice dropped to a harsher tone, "Stop this now."

"No, please, believe me. I can't die. I've been 18 for about 60 years now. I age slowly and I can't starve or get hurt. Well, I can get hurt, but it won't be permanent. So please, let me take care of you," Matt gripped Trimmel once more, pleading with him. "Klaus… Klaus please believe me. This could save your life and let you get to your son faster. Please just let me give you all my food and take a lot of the work-"

"And what!?" Trimmel sat up, trying his hardest to stay in a hushed whisper, "Let you starve? Matthew, I know you're younger and more full of life, but I am not an old man. This is a cute story and all, but if you've been slipping me your food and going out on a limb to help me, then stop. Someone has to protect you too. I thought you were getting skinnier faster than the others. Do not think that I haven't noticed that! Think about yourself. Think about your parents. If they lost you they would be devastated. Do not think that you're better than me because you're younger-"

"I don't think that! Klaus, Klaus please!" Matt felt his tears welling up. Trimmel didn't believe him. Great, how would Matt protect him now?

"Quiet!" Trimmel barked laying back down again. After a few awkward moments, he added in a softer tone, "Just… be quiet and get some sleep. Obviously you're exhausted." Pulling Matt back in his arms, Trimmel sighed against his buzzed hair, "Matthew, I know you're scared for me as well, but think of your parents. If I heard my boy was dead, I would lose it. He's the only reason I'm still fighting. I'm sure your parents are frightened for you right now. So survive for them, okay?"

"O-okay…" Matt muttered knowing that he had lost the conversation, "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, Frenchie."

They fell into silence for a few moments before Trimmel asked, "Is it quieter than normal?"

"I was just wondering that." Rolling over Matt paled a little, "Oh great, Paul died."

Trimmel sighed, "Quick, shove him off before he shits everywhere."

With one good shove, Matt pushed the dead man out of their bunk grimacing as the drafts tickled his back. He rolled back into his father figure, "There. We'll tell the soldiers in the morning."

"You cold? I can trade with you."

"No, I'm good."

"Because you're Canada?"

"Shut up."

Several more weeks slipped by and Matt stopped trying to keep up with the time anymore. He knew by the time Trimmel had showed up in the camp, he had left his family in the French woodlands for over a month. But now another month, maybe two had passed, and Matt could feel himself wearing down. He was quite exhausted and longed for the cold to leave. It would be spring soon in Canada, and his Vancouver home would be blossoming with flowers. Soon, it would be time for him to plant his garden and finish off the last of his big game meat stored from the winter. Whatever he didn't eat would have gone to his bear. Oh Kumajiro must be having such a difficult time without him… Matt's Boss must be pretty lost as well. He would hope by now, Alfred or Arthur or Francis would have told his boss what had happened. Though, his family probably couldn't be completely sure if he was okay.

Stepping out of the examination building while rubbing his newly shaven hair, Matt didn't speak as the soldier led him back over to a working Trimmel. Frowning at the older man, the Canadian realized that Trimmel was growing quite skinny, but not as much as he was. Still sneaking food to him, Matt had pretty much stopped eating all together. Everyday his energy sunk lower and lower to a point where he almost didn't get up that morning. If not for Trimmel dragging him out and forcing him to eat breakfast, Matt wasn't sure if he would be standing right now.

Picking up his shovel once more, Matt dug into the waste filled soil—their job today was to clean out behind the latrines. Trying to ignore the slowly growing fear that had been rising in his stomach the last few days, Matt knew the soldiers watched them more and more. The two prisoners had survived longer than most of the people who came through, and the two of them were finally starting to wear down. How much longer would the soldiers tolerate them?

"Hey Frenchie," Trimmel's voice broke Matt's thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"Look."

Squatting down beside him, Matt stared under the building to where Trimmel pointed. In the middle of the shadows, a weak, tiny flower shivered in the wind. But it still stood up against the elements, almost as if it had a point to make.

Matt smiled brightly, "Wow!"

"I know!" Trimmel chuckled, helping him stand back up, "To think something so beautiful could grow out of our shit."

"It's… amazing," he sighed starting to work once again. Both men continued in silence with a little more pep in their work.

The next day, the sun broke through the long lasting clouds. As the snow turned to slush, Matt couldn't help but to smile in the warm light though his bare feet were still frigid in the mushy mud. The work day seemed do breeze by much faster than normal as both he and Trimmel moods lifted. But then the rain came. Storms rolled in that afternoon, lightning crackling above their heads and thunder so close that it vibrated through their chests. But it didn't stop the soldiers from forcing the prisoners to do their work. In fact, the last few days the soldiers entire attitude had changed. They talked away from the prisoners more than usual, their hushed whispered had a tone of urgency in it. At the same time, more prisoners vanished at faster and faster rates, sometimes only if one had a slight cough, they were drug to that terrible smoking building. Things had to be getting serious in the war, and Matt knew that either (a) Germany's boss went into the next phase of his terrible plan or (b) the Allies were close. Or because the Allies were close, Germany's boss kicked in the next gear.

"I hope their close," Matt muttered to himself, his voice swallowed by the thunder clap above.

"What?" Trimmel glanced up, trying to wipe the rain from his eyes, "What did you say?"

"I'm wondering if the Allies are-"

He was cut off as Trimmel broke into a deep chest filled hack, his coughs shaking his entire body.

Matt's eyes widened, "Trimmel. Trimmel, stop coughing. Stop it now!"

"I'm… sorry," he answered in a raspy voice, "I swallowed… some water… it's stuck!"

Glancing over his shoulder, Matt began to pant in urgency as three soldiers were crossing the field towards them. Oh God, their eyes were on Trimmel.

"Stop it! Stop now! Klaus, you gotta stop!"

Trimmel pursed his lips closed, but his body still convulsed with each hack trying to break out.

The soldiers were twenty feet away, two of them shouldering their guns. Matt knew from watching them that any moment they would grab Trimmel and drag him away. Fifteen feet away and they would take his only friend to his death. Ten feet, "a Nation Person must never kill a human being unless (a) wartime in battle or (b) extreme circumstances." Five feet, _extreme circumstances._

Matt could never recall exactly what happened next, but he knew it was his only course of action. He remembered gripping his hoe, seeing red, and hearing the thunder. The next thing he knew, he stared at the young German soldier laying at his feet. Blood spurted from his dented forehead, squirting into the puddle he laid in. The same blood dripped from his hoe, and Matt knew instantly that he had just broke the first rule of the Nation People. He had killed the man.

Just like the day he was captured, screaming filled his ears as German soldiers seemed to appear from the air. Gripping his arms, his hair, Matt didn't struggle as the drug him off until he heard one voice carrying above all the elements.

"MATTHEW! God please, no! MATT! Matthew!"

Craning his neck, Matt met Trimmel's eyes as he struggled against two soldiers holding him back. The older man pleaded with them in German, but they held him tight.

"Trimmel!" Matt screamed back, "Live! You gotta keep living!"

But they could barely hear each other as the thunder sounded once again. Dragging him around the last building on the corner, Matt lost all sight of his friend as Trimmel's voice suddenly vanished. Looking forward, his entire body tensed up. They were going there.

The smoking building.

Matt struggled against the soldiers, but the lack of food finally took its effect on him. Weaken and weary, his fight finally ended in the soldier dragging him through the mud. This was it. The last stop. The final part of the camp that Matt knew so many had already suffered. Somehow, they were going to kill him and then burn his body, his soul lifted to the Heavens with the smoke. Though he was a Nation Person, could he survive his body incinerated completely to ash?

Out of the rain inside the building, the soldiers' boots echoed on the linoleum covering up Matt's low whimpers. What if he couldn't survive? What if this was it? What would happen to his nation? His people? His family? God, he wished he could have seen them one last time… told Francis he was happy to be his son, forgiven Arthur for calling Matt his brother's name because he knew it plagued the Englishman every time, and told Alfred how proud he was of his older brother and all his accomplishments. Trembling at the thoughts, Matt realized how hard it had become to remember their faces, how their voices sounded. The only face that came to his mind was Klaus Trimmel's. What would happen to him?

Yanking Matt by a pile of clothes, the soldiers didn't even bother to strip him. Shoving him onto the floor in a brightly lit room, Matt pushed himself up and spun around as they shut and locked the metal room. It was a shower room, like in a sports center for athletes to wash off in. But Matt quickly realized the problem. There were no faucets, no drains, and holes in the wall.

Only his panic gasps echoed off the walls. It was too quiet, far too quiet. Several minutes—maybe hours—passed before Matt heard it. A light _plink!_ sounded behind him. Glancing back, his eyes widened in fear and more and more _plinks!_ echoed around him. He smelt it before he saw it.

Poison gas pumped into the chamber. Panicking, he sprinted towards the door and pounded on it. He begged in German, French, English, any language he could think of for them to let him out. Eyes burning, he smelt the gas wrapping around him and his skin itched. Within minutes, he was spitting out foam as it filled his mouth.

Matt had to do it. He had to use his strength to break down the door if he was going to survive. Hustling across the room as his lungs screamed at him, he tried to focus on the door. One hit. One good hit should get him to fresh air.

Sprinting forward, Matt only made it to the center of the room before his legs failed him. Crashing into the floor, Matt flopped on to his back and stared at the white ceiling. Tears streaked passed his temples as the finality of it all sunk in. Feeling seeped from his limbs as the cold crawled towards his torso. The only heat was his searing lungs, fighting for the last bit of oxygen. Darkness closing in, Matt whimpered, "Francis… Arthur… Al… fre…d…"

Mathew Williams eyes closed one last time as he died.

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In London, Alfred Jones stopped walking. Glancing over his shoulder, his eyes filled with fear. Arthur Kirkland and Francis Bonnefoy had both stopped behind him and stared out the window towards the Southeast.

"Mathieu!" Francis choked out, his eyes filling with tears.

**Please read and review. See you all after finals.**

**p.s.**

**(no, this isn't the end)**


	4. Chapter 4

**You guys spoke on my poll about what you thought of this story. I was right in believing that I have two audiences for N.L. and Vigilant. But lucky for you guys. Even though I have new chapters up of both, Vigilant still beat it out. So I have decided that for every one chapter of N.L., I will write two chapters of Vigilant. Since I just put up a new N.L., you guys get two new chapters of this fic first. Thanks for your support.**

**Time to address some review:**

**Everyone: I know. I cried some too when I killed Mattie. You might want to buckle down some because it's just going to get worse.**

**Yoru Hana1: You get kudos for catching my mistake. See, that's why I usually heavily edit before posting. Also, I think all your questions will be answered over time. Not all at once but eventually.**

**Okay, on to the story! Here, is when I'll probably change to an M rating. Sorry, but young kids shouldn't be reading this anyway! ****I'm not writing quite as much as I planned yet. Mainly because I lost my notes when I moved out of my dorm so I have to either find them or re-research. Please enjoy!**

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_No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind_

_Meditation XVII_

_John Donne_

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_His heart started.

It pumped once again moving oxygen to his lungs and brain. Clicking back on, his nerves reconnected, and he felt it. His seared skin and lungs burned from the poison in the gas. Still a little stiff from the rigor mortis, he smiled. Pain meant he was alive. Mathew Williams was alive.

Darkness began to focus until he could see a small pinpoint of light. As it grew, Matt realized that he stared at a white blur. His eyes weren't functioning quite yet, but at least they worked. Some sort of light source hung above him, the buzz of fluorescents growing stronger in his ears. Whatever room he was in must have had a broken heater, because it was frigid. As the last of the gas exhaled from his lungs, he realized he could see his breath starting to waft from his lips. But it still was pretty fuzzy. He tried to close his eyes, but the eyelids wouldn't move. Must still be the rigor mortis.

Suddenly, a dark blur appeared in his peripheral vision. Turning his head slightly, he made out the rough outline of a man. Details filled in to show he was quite young, about Matt's age, and he wore a doctor's coat. Scribbling on a clipboard, he finally glanced down at Matt. His eyebrow rose. Hand running across Matt's bear chest, the doctor's brow furrowed before taking Matt's pulse. All colored drained from his face. His fear filled eyes flashed to the Canadian's. The doctor stumbled back as Matt slowly pushed himself up to his elbows, still quite stiff.

The doctor shrieked.

Matt screamed.

The doctor sprinted from the room howling at the top of his lungs, "Die lebenden Toten! Zombie! Die lebenden Toten!"

Matt panted, groaning as he fully sat up. He rolled his still blurry eyes, and frowned. Everything else could move in his body, but why couldn't he blink? A sharp pain throbbed in his face, searing across the newly awaken nerves. Gently, Matt slipped out the source of the pain. Six needled for each eye pinned open the lids. Whimpering as each dropped to the metal table with a _plink_, he squeezed his eyes shut and covered them with his palms. Though the pain quickly faded, it still unnerved him. Pins were pushed into his face. He wiped the last of the blood from his eyes, and finally glanced around with clear vision.

No wonder he was so cold. He was laying naked on a metal table in a morgue. Four other men laid on the other tables on either side of him. Ripping off a tag tied to his big toe, he slid to the floor. Scooping up the discarded clipboard from the floor, he glanced at it. Trimmel had taught him how to read basic German. One part was underlined and it read Sparen: anzug Augen.

He had been saved because of his purple eyes.

"Thank you for that, eyes," he breathed.

The room though stagnant now would be buzzing soon. A "living corpse" like him was sure to bring others back. Doctors and soldiers would flood the room. He had to get out now.

Spotting some scrubs, he threw them on fast, not worrying about shoes. Hearing voices screaming down the hall, Matthew knew he shouldn't have wasted time on something like clothes. His time had run out. He had to hide now.

Making a quick decision, he spotted the morgue coolers where dead bodies were stored to preserve them. He sprinted to it, accidently hitting the desk and knocking a pen to the floor. No time to correct it as he opened the cooler door. A body already laid there, one of a middle aged woman.

"Sorry madam," he said, hoisting himself up and sliding in. With no latch for the inside, Matt couldn't completely close the door. Though it was still slightly ajar, he prayed it was enough to be overlooked.

The Doctor calmly walked into his morgue, looking very unamused. His newest intern had burst into his office shrieking like a girl about the living dead. Though the young new comer had the highest marks in his class, sometimes he could be an idiot.

"See? No dead walking around. Though, we do have a situation on our hands. Bodies don't just vanish for any reason," the Doctor's eyes were critical. He commanded the room with just his presence, and everyone from the soldiers to the nurses listened to his orders. "I performed the autopsy on that body myself. I know it was dead," he muttered to himself still scanning around, "Either someone stole it or you're lying."

The intern's eyes grew wide, "No sir! I swear on my mother's grave, it was the body that sat up! The one with the purple eyes."

"Your mother's grave means nothing to me," The Doctor turned once more still looking, "The answer is in the room. Something is off. We're missing something very small. Whoever has done this, they're still here. I feel it."

He slowly scanned around the room.

The examination tables: check. The counters: nothing misplaced. The open closet where the scrubs hung: one hanger was barely moving. A scrub was missing. Whoever it was had dressed themselves. Following the path towards the back of the room, the Doctor strolled silently over to the desk and picked the pen off the ground. One place was left in the morgue to hide: the coolers. Quickly glancing them over, he spotted what he was looking for. Every handle was turned down in the locked position except one.

Stepping away to give his soldiers room, he motioned to the cooler, their body thief finally cornered. The soldier ripped open the door, guns ready and yanked out the prisoner. The Doctor's breath caught in his throat.

It was the purpled eyed dead body, but he was very much alive and well. The young man dropped to his knees and positioned his hands behind his head.

"Told you!" the intern cried and pointed.

"Quiet!" The Doctor snapped strolling up to the prisoner. He was young, probably not even twenty yet. And shivering—no, trembling. The Doctor loved the smell of fear.

Matt kept his eyes focused on the ground, wishing he could keep his body in check. The excessive trembling just made his ears turn hotter. As the Doctor kneeled down in front of him, the Canadian did note that he wasn't an unattractive man, until he smiled. His teeth made him look like a sneering weasel.

The Doctor eyed Matt and spoke to him softly in German, "Guten Tag."

"Guten Tag," Matthew hesitated for a moment before adding in a broken baby sentence, "I not speak German good."

"Französisch?"

Matt nodded and turned his head down once again.

The Doctor stood and crossed his arm, "Get me a translator, anyone actually, who can speak French. I want to talk to this man."

A soldier saluted him and hurried out.

Matt waited, focused on a spot on the floor.

Long silence.

It didn't take very long for the soldier to return. The Doctor barked an order at the translator, his tone chilling and deadly only demanding nothing but the truth.

"Bonjour."

"Bonjour."

Glancing briefly over his shoulder and trying to ignore the gawking eyes of the Doctor, the translator ask with a slight edge of fear in his voice, "Why aren't you dead? The good Doctor performed your autopsy himself, and he says that he knows for a fact that you were not alive."

Shit.

Matt licked his lips. He had to think up something profound, some really good lie to hopefully scare them. Something so good that they would tremble and release him. Anything but the truth.

"I… I don't know," he whispered.

Shit.

Judging by the look on his face, the Doctor didn't buy it. Matt's blood froze as the man spoke.

"Shoot him."

"Wait!"

Pain seared in the Canadian's forehead as the shot echoed, reverberating off the wall. Matt whimpered as he slumped to the floor, dead.

The Doctor growled at the soldier who had fired, "Why did you shoot him in the head! You could have damaged his eyes! Idiot."

He spun on his heels and stalked away, grumbling under his breath. Stupid soldiers. They didn't understand the beauty of medicine and the delicate art it entailed.

A loud, panicked gasp sounded.

The Doctor stopped, frozen in his steps. The soldiers stared, stunned into silence.

Whining quietly, Matt pushed himself back up, fingering his wound. His forehead pushed against the bullet as it healed itself, pressing it slowly out of the hole it made. His skull crackled as it mended itself together before the bullet dropped to the linoleum with a faint _plik!_ New skin shimmered with sweat, the strain of healing again so soon tolling on his body. Matt panted and wiped the blood away from his eyes, before looking up.

Shit.

They saw him heal. They watched the entire thing. Humans. Not just any humans, but his enemies. His enemies knew his secret.

Shit.

The Doctor grimly smiled, his eyes studying Matt like a starved hound. Or a crazed man.

He sneered, "This will be interesting my new pet."

**Please read and review.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello guys! I'm back. Get ready. Buckle in. This is when it gets tough… like so tough that I have to stop and start and take breaks and watch youtube videos to not make myself cry.**

**This chapter probably won't be for the faint hearted. Just a warning.**

**To address a few reviews:**

**Germany will be in the next chapter. He's coming. I promise. I always saw this as not only Matt's relationship with Ludwig, but also with the country of Germany and the trials there as well. That's why I haven't changed the pairings to just "Canada."**

**Purple Kimono: Bears! Ha! Yes I did mean bare!**

**ArmoredSoul: YES! Just like Captain Jack Harkness. I'm sort of modeling their ability to regenerate on him.**

**Please enjoy (to the best of your ability even if bad things are happening)!**

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Matt remembered his wish that day. After everything that had happened—before, during, and after—with his journey and his time there, he remembered his one wish. He knew he was in trouble. He could assume the pain he knew was coming and comprehend the hurt he already had. He still remembered his wish.

He wished, hoped, prayed that the first cut would be the worse.

He was wrong.

The scalpel glistened, hovering above Matthew's chest. Toying, waiting, considering, pondering where to make the first incision. Even as Canada, his strength had been depleted after weeks without eating. The leather straps possessed the power of two men, roping down all his limbs. Still he thrashed, trembled, pleaded, cried, and wept for the Doctor to let him be, to let him go back out into the icy fields and work. That he would till the ground more than any other man they had, that he knew mechanics and could probably fix their vehicles, that he would shovel coal on the trains, that he would do just about anything to not feel the nip of the first cut… and the several that would follow.

Another cry entered the room as the soldiers drug a weeping man—no, just a boy like Matt—inside and threw him on the table to the right. The Canadian's heart sunk, listening to the boy begging with his own countrymen as they restrained him as well.

The Intern stood behind the Doctor, armed with his own scalpel. They nodded once both of their patients were in place.

"As much as I would love to see what makes you tick," the Doctor ran a finger across Matthew's cheek, "I think it would be best just to use the arm. Just so I can teach my student. Are you ready?"

The Intern nodded, and in mirror image they both lowered their blades.

The boys screamed out as it slid across their arms.

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Matthew grimaced for the umpteenth time that night. Or day. He had long ago lost sense of time. The cell, not even long or wide enough to stretch out his legs, had no windows. The door didn't allow any slivers of the outside world in. If he had been a normal human, he would have probably have suffocated by now. Knees pulled up to his chest, he rested his forehead on them and winced.

The boy's bone pressed against the inside of Matt's skin as his body rejected it. His skin had healed faster than the rest of his body, trapping his new humerus bone. Healing and regrowing his own body parts, he knew that any moment—

He screamed as the bone burst through with a sickening pop, before it slipped out and to the floor.

Finally.

A moment to rest as his body quickly mended, though the new muscles still took their time to reconnect to the nerves. It left his arm numb.

When he was younger, his father would rub out his sore muscles… his father…

Matt stared at the black and thought. What did his father look like? Either of them for that matter. Or his brother. Blonde. They were all blondes, he had that much. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to focus through the pain, to catch a shred of anything of his family. Snippets ascended to the surface, flashes of something he knew or hoped was real. He could remember scents of tea, roses, and hamburgers. He remembered a bright blue frock coat, a sea faded crimson coat, a bomber jacket. But no faces came. Even Trimmel's laughing smile was just a blurred image. Truly, all he could see at the moment was the darkness.

* * *

"More ice," the Doctor commanded as the Intern dumped another full bucket into the tank.

"That's all of it."

Rolling his eyes, the Doctor barked at the young man, "Then find more!"

The Intern scuttled out.

Shaking his head at the incompetence, the Doctor leaned on the edge of the tank and watched. His pet, the purple eyed patient, sat still in the vat starring at the water as ice cubes floated around him. His skin was paler than normal while his lips had changed into a dark bluish hue, the same as the twilight sky. The Doctor reached down, pressing two fingers against Matthew's throat.

He waited…

There.

Matthew's heart still had a pulse.

Barely.

* * *

Matt shivered, sitting as close to the fireplace as he dared. The Doctor's office was almost homey to a person used to pitch black prison cells. The low ceiling held the heat well as the flames' light waltzed across the wooden paneled walls. Even the carpet, though thin, was a wonderful relief from the stone floors he had become accustomed to. More and more the last few days, the Doctor brought Matthew back to his office. Though he spouted that it was because he loved and cared for his patient, the Canadian knew it was just to watch him heal. They never spoke. Matt just sat on the floor in silence, usually staring at the fire or out the skylight, while the doctor worked at his desk.

The skylight. Matt loved it the most. He hadn't realized how much he had missed seeing the sky. Though he couldn't see very well from the smoke pouring out of the building next door, he enjoyed just looking up for hours.

Tugging the blanket around him tighter, Matt cleared his throat.

The Doctor glanced up.

Feeling the eyes on him, Matt turned his head away. He cringed as footsteps came closer to him.

Sitting beside Matt, the Doctor rested his ashtray on the floor between them and lit a cigarette. Side by side, they stared at the fire in silence.

Minutes passed.

Finally the Doctor held out the cigarette for Matt, "Want one? Help you relax."

Matt shook his head.

"You sure?"

"I don't smoke," he whispered back.

Shrugging, the Doctor snubbed out the butt and stood. He slid off his lab coat and draped it over Matt's head, "Keep that there. It will help you hold heat in." Striding back across the room, the Doctor sat at his desk and continued his work.

What?

Matt peaked around the coat, confused at what just happened. Was that supposed to be kindness? If it was, it was a nice reprieve from what he was used to. With a tiny smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, Matt settled into his spot once more feeling more settled.

* * *

A glass of water. That was all he wanted.

Matthew's lips were just as swollen as his tongue as he stared at the fluorescent. At least he thought it was a light. He wasn't quite sure anymore. Only a few moments ago, it was a cloud and before it was his flag, and before that…

He was losing his mind.

For more than a week now, the Doctor refused to give his patient any food or fresh water. All Matt was allowed to consume was sea water.

Lolling his head back, he saw the Intern taking notes.

Matt smiled to the young man.

He smiled back.

Matt reached out, "You are nice."

"Thank you," Chuckled the Intern pulling up a chair beside him, "No one here has ever told me that. Your German is getting better too."

"Oui, Papa," giggled the Canadian, his eyes clearly not focusing. His speech slipped back and forth between German and French, "I've been studying like a good boy. Are Arthur and Alfred coming soon? I can't wait to see them. Christmas is always fun with them around."

Laughing and jotting the results on a clip board, the Intern nodded, "Clearly delusional."

"Who is?" snapped the Doctor, stepping into the room. He handed the young man a cup of coffee and pulled up a second chair beside him, "What is happening?"

Matt stared wild eyed at their cup, weakly tugging at his restraints.

But the Intern patted his arm, "Sorry, but not water. Coffee. It would make you worse."

Nodding, the Canadian relaxed once again, gawking up to the ceiling.

Returning to the previous conversation, the Intern sipped his drink, "He called me his father and then talked about two other people named Arthur and Alfred, and mentioned them coming for Christmas and he even called me nice!"

"That's a first."

"I know!"

"Hmm, maybe we can use this to our advantage. To make him more willing. His mind is clearly gone," the Doctor stood and took Matt's hand, "Hello… son."

"Papa?" Matt's brow furrowed confused, "You dyed your hair."

"It was always this color."

"Oh?"

"Ja."

"You're right. Forgive me Papa."

The Doctor smirked, his weasel like teeth poking through. Turning back to the Intern, he waved him off, "This is enough. Get an I.V. and we'll start rehydrating him."

"Yes sir!"

Matthew stared up to the Doctor with the smallest smile, "I'm getting a glass of water?"

"Yes. Merry Christmas, son."

"Thank you, Papa."

* * *

_Matt pushed open the large wooden double doors, the music sweeping him up. The party of the century had already begun, and he knew he was late for it. The other countries were already dancing, the women's formal gowns sweeping across the floor. The men laughed together, nibbling on little hors d'oeuvre and chatting about the latest news._

_Glancing down, Matt realized that he still wore the clothes from the camp, his hair still sheered away. He needed to dress for the party._

_Across the room, he spotted France chatting with Seychelles, the two of them giggling together. Matthew, trying to ignore his burning cheeks about his clothing, scuttled along the wall until he reached out to Francis._

"_Papa, I need to change. Do you have anything?" he tugged his father's sleeve with a little grin._

_Francis glanced over and blinked, as if he was looking through Matt. Seeing nothing, he turned and continued his conversation with his female charge._

_Stumbling back, the Canadian gawked at them as his heart tightened from the realization. Maybe Francis didn't want to claim him as his son anymore. Matthew was dirty, had no hair, overly skinny, and had little strength. He just wasn't wanted by the Frenchman._

_Scanning the crowd, maybe Arthur would help. The Brit didn't dwell on the physical aspects. Matt spotted him in a heated discussion with Cuba, both of their faces darkening. Cuba, his friend. Sprinting over, Matt snatched both of their arms crying out, "I missed you both so much! Arthur! Cuba!"_

_Both island nations paused their debate long enough to also look. Once again, they saw nothing._

"_Alfred!" Matt spun around, screaming, "I need a hero!"_

_No one heard his voice._

_Sprinting through the crowd searching for his brother, Matt bumped into several nations, grabbing them, screaming their name, trying everything to get their attention. From Finland to China to Russia to Spain, no one acknowledged his existence. _

_No one was missing him._

_He saw his brother across the room. Alfred was shaking hands with another nation. Matt's blood ran cold. America was shaking Germany's hand as the other Axis Powers watched approvingly. A red pin sat proudly on his brother's jacket, glistening in the light. _

_The pin was a swastika._

_The world slowed as Matt glanced at all the countries close to him. Austria. Swastika. Hungary. Swastika. Turkey. Swastika. Greece. Swastika. Sweden. Swastika. Belgium, Lichtenstein, Netherlands. Swastikas. Cuba and Iceland and Taiwan and Egypt and China and EVERYONE. All of them branded._

"_No. No!" He screamed, his body shaking._

_A hand plopped down on Matthew's shoulder. It was Germany. With a cruel smile, the Nazi nation pointed above the door._

_Matt looked up and screamed._

_His precious Canadian flag hung there. But instead of the British Union Jack in the top left corner, it was the German Nazi swastika. _

Head snapping up and awake, Matt gasped and gripped his head. As his fingers trembled, he covered his eyes and began to weep.

A pair of hands rested on his shoulders, comfortably. "My son?" the Doctor whispered gently, "What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"Papa! I just had the scariest dream!" wailed the Canadian, turning and hugging the Doctor around the middle.

"Shh, do not be afraid. I am here." Sitting beside him on the medical table, the Doctor held Matt close to him as a twisted grin tugged the corners of his mouth.

* * *

Snatching the bucket up, Matthew vomited into it, nothing but bile and spit coming out. It was the fourth time in the last hour he had done this.

Rolling his eyes over to the Intern, who was always taking notes, Matt glared at him.

"Don't look at me like that," the Intern shook his head, "You had the choice to take the weaker poison, but no. You had to refuse both."

"Poison?" Matt panted, gripping his throbbing heart threatening to stop and start, "Is that what you fed me?"

"Put it this way," strolling over, the Intern leaned over the weaken patient laying on the floor, "We're developing cures for these poisons. You're saving the lives of many people in the future. Doesn't that help your suffering feel better?"

"No!" Matt cried, stiffening up as he fought back more bile, "I want to speak to my Papa!"

The Intern frowned and nodded, hating the demanding 'favorite' patient. Poking his head out the door, speaking quietly, he moved out of the way for the Doctor to step in.

Shuffling over to Matt, he touched the soft hair starting to grow in on top of the Canadian's head, "What is wrong? Does your tummy hurt?"

Matthew stared at him confused.

Quickly realizing that his patient hadn't learned the colloquial term 'tummy,' he pointed to his abdomen, "Stomach?"

"Ja!" whimpered Matt holding the bucket close to him.

The Doctor pulled out a vial. It glistened in his hands as the pink liquid sloshed inside. Matt's eyes automatically focused on it, knowing it was the antidote, the cure of his current pain.

"If you are a good boy," whispered the Doctor, holding the vial out of reach, "Then I will give it to you. You just have to take one more little, itsy, bitsy, poison beforehand."

"One more?"

"Just one. Don't you want to be a good boy for your father?"

"Yes! Ja! Ja! I do! I'll be good. I promise."

Glancing back at the Intern, he nodded for his assistant to prepare the next set of poison. The young man filled the syringe and handed it to the Doctor. Eagerly, Matt held out his arm and smiled sweetly, knowing it would be over soon.

"Good boy."

* * *

Their weak cries fell on deaf ears. The two little girls, probably no older than eight, wailed as the Intern and another assistant held them still. The Doctor worked slowly and patiently as he sewed their already cut open hands together. Clipping each of their veins so they wouldn't bleed out, he connected the two ends and made the two separate beings become one.

Matt watched from the corner, his knees pulled up to his chest. Now a days, he refused to be separated from his father, sitting through all the other experiments. The little girls had been wide eyed and excited as they first came in, chattering away about how they were promised candy. Matt couldn't even meet their hopeful eyes. Now they weren't excited anymore.

The little girls had been identical twins, but now for the first time in their lives, they were conjoined twins. Closing his eyes, Matt had a strange feeling that at some point, he might have had a twin. But he couldn't quite remember. All he knew was at this point in time, he was happy he wasn't the little girls.

* * *

Staring up at the skylight, Matthew munched on some bread slathered in butter. Being his first meal in several days, his father thought it would have been appropriate for his son to have a treat. The Canadian had forgotten how good butter was.

The Doctor chuckled as he glanced up from his work. The patient wiggled his toes as he nibbled away on the snack. Like so many months ago, he strolled over in front of the fire and plopped down on the ground, resting his ashtray between them.

"Gut?"

"Ja, Vater! Danke," Matt cheered, ever so slowly sitting up. He loved when his father was in a good mood, unlike most of the time. Lately, he had become more and more sour and angrier with the patients, going as far as destroying his files. The Allies, Matt had overheard, were closing in. These Allies. Every time he heard them mentioned, it struck a chord deep in him. They were so important to him, but he couldn't quite remember why. It was some memory he could cup in his hands like water, but would slip away if he focused harder.

The Doctor lit the cigarette and glanced over to Matthew. Gently, he whispered, "My son, if I had to leave, would you come with me?"

"Yes," Matt answered, not pausing for a moment, "I would go anywhere with you because I love you."

"Good. Cigarette?"

Staring at it, the Canadian's brow furrowed. Was it a test? What if he failed? Slowly, he reached out and took it into his fingers. As the Doctor lit it and watched him inhale for the first time, Matt choked and coughed.

The Doctor laughed.

Good. Matt had made his father proud.

* * *

Matthew rested on the metal examination table, not needing to be restrained anymore. The Intern knew he wouldn't run away.

"Where is my father?"

Looking up for a moment before continuing to prepare Matt's arm for the next injection, the Intern answered, "He's making a phone call. Apparently the Führer is coming soon to see our progress."

"The… Führer? You mean Hitler? Adolf Hitler!"

"Silence!" The Intern popped him in the mouth and pointed, "You will not speak about our leader like that."

"He is not… not my leader," Matthew blinked, pulling his arm back. "It's Hitler. Hitler. He caused this war. He's making all these people die and I've been here." Eyes clearing, the Canadian's realized a chance, a break. The Führer was coming, and he could possibly end this war.

The Intern snatched his arm and raised an eyebrow, "Are you finished? You're supposed to be a good boy while your father was gone. If you're going to be bad-"

"No!," Matt shook his head, once again losing his clarity and falling back into the throws of his new life, "I'll be good. What are we doing this time?"

Holding up the syringe, the Intern showed off the dark liquid with a little grin, "It's Malaria. Once it takes effect, we're trying some new medicines to help cure it. You will save thousands of lives if it works."

"_Infect me."_ Matt grinned with a wild eyed smirk, yearning for the needle's prick.

* * *

Lighting flashed through the skylight, thunder sounding immediately afterwards. Matt whimpered quietly watching the rain hit the window. Storms scared him more and more lately, but he couldn't quite place why. His father shuffled around papers on his desk, separating them out into folders. Watching intently, Matt caught his eyes and they smiled to each other. Turning his back to him, the Doctor flipped up the calendar to the next page. Apparently, it was a new month. Too afraid to get close and anger the Doctor, Matt never checked to see when it was.

Very quietly, just in case he was about to speak the wrong words, Matt whispered, "What's the date?"

"Hmm?" the Doctor glanced up, "Oh, July 1st."

"What?" Matt frowned, tears springing to his eyes. Air catching in his throat, he covered his face trying not to sob.

Furrowing his brow, the Doctor hurried over and touched his shoulders, "My son! What is it?"

"It's… it's my… my birthday."

For the first time in his entire stay, the Doctor looked very shocked. Licking his lips he nodded before smiling, "Really? Your birthday. Well, what would you like for your birthday, my son?" He prayed that the patient wouldn't request to leave the camp, realizing what he just asked.

"A present?" Matt beamed and glanced up as he wiped the tears away, "There! I want to go outside. I haven't seen the sky since…" Since he had been dragged away from Trimmel… It was July. Since he had left for Germany on his mission, he had been away a little over eight months.

The Doctor helped his weak patient up and motioned to the door. Together, he led him down the winding hallways and out the back. Rain poured from the sky as the wind whipped through their hair. But Matt didn't care. Throwing his arms out to the side and staring up towards the sky, Matthew Williams laughed. The fresh air filled him while the warm rain struck his face. He laughed and laughed and then… a sob caught in his throat. Matthew Williams fell to the mud and wailed while the Doctor and other soldiers watched.

He turned 19 years old that day.

**Please and Review**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you all for being so patient. Life sort of happened to me. I wanted to completely finish this fic for my summer break, but I don't think it's going to happen.**

**FINALLY! Ludwig! You just don't know how long I waited for this. This chapter was the first thing I wrote for Vigilant. I started this chapter back in ****January****, before I even considered writing it from Matt's point of view. It was only going to be a one shot about Ludwig, and then I got the idea of bringing in an outside person. The rest is history.**

**Reviews:**

**~Person I addressed in the last chapter, it's okay! We're cool. I figured that it was a slip of the tongue, and I reacted a little too strong. I'm sorry as well.**

**~Fabled-Reverie: Yes Matt is going through Stockholm Syndrome, but later I'm thinking he'll endure PTSD as well.**

**~Axel Pyro Girl and Russian Lullaby: I like hearing other people's theories of how the countries age. I agree with your theory that they grow with their country too, but I also like seeing the nation people from both their country and human side. I think that over time, the human side weighs in. In my eyes since Matt is emotionally maturing, he physically got older. I also believe that nations can go backwards and get younger too. I think that Arthur and Francis are older in WWII and then get younger during peace times to reflect both their countries turmoil and calm. To me, their ages are always in flux and aren't always going forward. But that's just my thoughts. I would love to hear what other people think and to hear their theories about the nations.**

**~Hispanic Tenshi: I politely disagree with you. I believe that fanfiction is very important… well it is to me. I think that the fanfiction defines a fandom and shapes it. For me, I use it to practice writing and it's almost an instant gratification because I can see what I am doing well and what I need to work on. **

**~Everyone: with the dream sequence in the last chapter, did it read well or was it confusing? It was something a little new I was trying and I want your feedback on it.**

**~Zetsubo Sensei: I LOVE FANART! Please, I highly encourage it. I would love to see fanart for this piece. I have one for my other fic N.L. but I have none for this one. Any takers? **

**Okay, onto the chapter! Enjoy!**

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* * *

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Ludwig hated that smell. It sickened him. They caught the first whiff of it kilometers away, and he knew what it was.

People.

A lot of them. His people. Burning.

Clenching his fist around the steering wheel as they drove through the main gate, Ludwig bit his lip. Keeping his eyes on the road, he refused to veer his gaze off to the fences on the sides. He didn't want to see what was behind them. This was all too unreal. Why would anyone do this to the people of their own nation? Stupid, senseless violence. Meaningless death. He could feel and hear every time his people were subjected to the pain, the death. The noise within his body grew louder and loud as they had driven closer to the camp. Ludwig grimaced. He was a Nation Person. You would think that Germany would at least be able to save one person in his country.

Slowing to a stop, the squealing breaks snapped him out of his thoughts. The moment the door opened, a woman's wail bombarded Ludwig's ears. He glanced over and choked, watching a mother cling to her child as the soldiers—his soldiers—struggled with her. The conflict ended quickly with the mother earning a bullet to the head, and the child was swept away to be taught a lie about some mythical Vaterland.

A gloved hand rested on Ludwig's shoulder. Spinning around, he stared into the smiling eyes of his Boss that he hated so much.

"Come Ludwig," his Boss beamed at him, "Pay no attention. It's just another day in paradise."

Ludwig used every ounce of strength to force a smile and not shoot the man in front of him. The man who took his beautiful Germany and the ideal of the wonderful Wilhelm II, and twisted it to the filth of the world. Ludwig Weilschmidt hated his home.

Relief washed over him as they stepped into the main medical building, shutting out the devastating noises from outside. Florescent bulbs buzzed overhead while Ludwig tried to focus solely on the sound of his steel toed boots rapping on the linoleum. Sights, sounds, lights, the cool hallway's breeze all distracted him away from the horrors outside every window they went by.

Passing through their fourth set of double doors, a handsome man with a grin like a weasel greeted them.

"Doctor!" the Boss shook hands with the man, "How good to see you again."

"Mein Führer!" the sniveling man bowed humbly to them, before shaking Ludwig's hand with an icy palm that Ludwig felt through his gloves. The German nation crinkled his nose as the strong scent of formaldehyde and salt practically barreled off the Doctor. Right away, Ludwig knew he would hate this man. Leading the group, the Doctor chatted with the Boss filling them in on the situation of why they were visiting the camp in the first place.

"It's amazing!" the Doctor raved pushing open the umpteenth double door, "I believe we have discovered some kind of new species. Like it is the next evolutionary step in humans. The man is a super human of some kind. He has survived every test we have operated on him, even survived an autopsy. He was awake for the entire procedure until we… well we were going to sew him back up. But sir, he possesses this ability to heal himself."

"Heal himself?" the Boss perked up, even more interested, "How to you mean?"

The Doctor smirked, a bit of pride showing through, "You cut or injure him in any way, and minutes later, the wound is closed. He survived freezing temperatures and dehydration for over a week. Sir, you must see him. I believe that I have mentally destroyed him enough to force his hand into our favor. He believes I'm his father."

"His father?" chuckled the Boss, clearly amused.

Ludwig frown turned down a little more.

Continuing down the long hallways, the Doctor held open another door for his leader, "Sir, I believe once we nurse him back to health, he can be trained to fight for us."

Ludwig tried to ignore his Boss' eyes as they trailed over to the nation. Germany didn't falter his stoic stare forward, but his ears were intently listening. A man that did not die? No matter what happened? His pursed lips drew tighter as coils of tension settle in his stomach. Ludwig, like the prisoner, couldn't die—as least not easily. It had to be a nation person. There was no other explanation. With the realization, his steps became heavier, dragging across the floor. Ludwig tried to think as they drew closer and closer to the next set of double doors. The sign beside it read "examination room." Through that portal waited a being like him. Ludwig was losing time. Time to explain to his Boss the situation. Time to comprehend what was happening. Time to react. A deep regret filled him, pooling in his heart. Ludwig knew what occurred in this camp. The idea of any of the atrocities happening repeatedly to a nation much less a normal human made Germany press his lips thinner.

"Doctor," the Boss' voice broke through Ludwig's thoughts, "Is this man a German soldier?"

"No," the Doctor replied, glancing through his notes on the clipboard he carried, "He was a spy captured about 30 kilometers south of Hamburg. When we first found him, he barely spoke German. I was able to teach him more, but he still mostly speaks in small sentences like a child. He tends to use French more than any other language."

_France!_ Germany whipped his eyes to the Doctor. Did they have Francis? He just had to make sure.

Clearing his throat, Ludwig asked with forceful authority, "I would like to know more details about the prisoner. Please explain further and do not leave out anything."

"Yes, General Weilschmidt!" the Doctor cowered slightly at Ludwig's tone, "He speaks mostly in French but he speaks fluent English as well. From what the translators have said, the prisoner's dialect sounds as if he is not from France and his English isn't from England. It is a dialect from the Americas."

_America?_ The thought puzzled Ludwig. He was pretty sure that America couldn't speak French if they paid him in hamburgers. Though, the North American country used to be quite brilliant around his revolution time. Maybe it was Alfred. Ludwig turned his attention back to the Doctor who was still speaking.

They had reached the double doors, but were waiting outside of it. Waiting. The Doctor held his clipboard close to him, considering his next words. Licking his lips, he said, "Mein Führer. General Weilschmidt. The prisoner is awake. He should pose no threat, but we still have him guarded. If you wish, you should be able to speak with him. But he is a bit shy with new comers so please do not be offended if he doesn't talk right away."

The Boss crossed his arms, appearing quite amused, "You seem to have become very close with your prisoner. I hope you are not forming attachments."

The Doctor, startled, cleared his throat before looking towards the door, "Of course not, sir. I do not even know his name. I'm just acting."

"Very well," the Boss' eyes held a glimmer of excitement, "I would like to talk to him. Let us precede, Doctor."

Pushing open the door, Ludwig's eyes darted around. The room, far more sterile then anything that the nation could clean, had all the medical tables and hospital beds pushed off to the side. Only a table and two chairs opposite of each other remained in the middle. A young man, head cleanly shaven and dressed within the basic clothes of the camp, sat waiting in the chair. Skin hugging his body and cheek bones, the boy's shoulders jutted out oddly. He practically glowed in the light, pale as snow. With the boy's head down, Ludwig frowned. Since the boy's body was so altered from his time in the camp, Ludwig couldn't tell what he looked like. Two guards stood on either side of him, and a third moved behind them. From his uniform style, Ludwig knew he was a translator.

The three of them approached, the Doctor hurrying ahead. His Intern, who was watching from the corner, saluted the Führer before joining his mentor's side. The two nodded to each other before standing proudly behind the prisoner. Running his fingers along the shaven head, the Doctor cooed gently, "Look alive, my son. You have a very important visitor."

Lifting his heavy head, the young prisoner swollen violet eyes me Ludwig's sharp blue ones. Germany gasped. He knew those eyes. He had met them before back during the Great War. Vimy Ridge. It wasn't a terrible lost, but Ludwig met one of his fiercest enemies. Canada. He stood before the broken form of Canada. France and England would murder Germany repeatedly if they knew their beloved son was in this camp.

"Problem Ludwig?" the Boss watched the nation carefully, searching for any knowledge.

"Ludwig?" Canada's voice was raspy and dry, barely speaking above a whisper. His dim eyes tried to focus, but with no avail.

"You must pardon him, sir," the Doctor sniveled, still disgustingly stroking Canada's head with fake love, "He had some tests yesterday on his eyes. He might be able to see you quite yet."

Ludwig clenched his fist, but appeared calm, "Test? Doctor, what do you mean?"

Gripping Canada's chin, he forced it up as the young prisoner blinked in the light, "I have never seen purple eyes before. Since he can survive the surgeries, I wanted to see what was inside them."

Ludwig turned away, hiding his disgust by strolling over to "examine" the medical equipment. Cutting into a living person, and—from the notes he had read about the camps—experimenting on them? The bile rose in his throat just thinking about the poor, young nation subjected to this.

"Hello."

Ludwig whipped around, watching his boss smile to Canada. The Führer took the free chair. He smiled and spoke again in gentle French, "Hello."

No answer.

"Can you hear me?"

Canada nodded, clearly having trouble focusing on the speaker's face.

The Boss grinned bigger, "Are you French?"

Canada shook his head no.

"English?"

Head shakes no.

"Oh? What are you?"

Canada whined lightly and crossed his arms over his chest. He shivered in the metal chair.

The Intern, losing his patience, dug his boney fingers into the prisoner's neck and squeezed, "Stop being so shy! The Führer asked you a question! Answer-"

Snatching back his hand, the Doctor glared at his student and shook his head. His eyes were practically cutting the Intern open, "Don't. Be. So. Rash."

"Yes, sir. Sorry sir."

"C-C-Canada!" trembled the prisoner, slipping down into his seat.

Shoving the Intern back, the Doctor's entire being softened as he stroked the Canadian's head, "Good boy. Thank you. I didn't know you were from there. You never told me." He glanced up to the Boss and nodded, "It must be because you're here sir. He would never answer me before."

"Oh? Canada?" the Boss turned in his seat to Ludwig and smiled, "Do you know anything about this Ludwig? Canada? Is this their… you know."

"No, sir," Ludwig lied quickly, but didn't meet his leader's eyes, "I have met Canada and this is not him." Glancing back over to the prisoner, blue eyes met violet ones, and Matt realized something. Germany was protecting him. Or at least trying to. Or having pity on him. Either way, Matthew was grateful for the little bit of help.

"Maybe Canada has developed some sort of super soldier," the Boss continued his conversation with the Doctor, ignoring the nations, "We haven't paid too much attention to them during the war. We might have to add a little more… we'll discuss this later. This is quite a find Doctor. If anything, we might can make our own soldiers stronger from him."

"I believe so too, sir," the Doctor bowed his head. After a short awkward pause, he licked his lips, "Sir, because of the enemy threat, I'm going to be moving camps in a few days."

Ludwig's heart sank as he watched Canada's head snap up in shock. The poor nation's mind was gone. Matthew whirled around and grabbed the Doctor's lab coat, "Papa! You are going? I want to come! Don't leave me!"

"Shh, my son. That is what I'm asking the Führer. If-"

"You want him to come with you?" the Boss smiled before nodding, "Of course, Doctor. I wouldn't want him in the care of anyone else. I know that you will take good care of him."

The Doctor rubbed Canada's shoulder, "Do you hear that? You can come with me. We will not be apart. You should thank the Führer for his kindness."

Suddenly, Canada's eyes darkened as he glared at Germany's Boss. He shook his head and practically growled, "I will never thank that man for anything."

"Excuse me?" the Führer grimaced, "Do you know who you are speaking to? You are a prisoner of war! You are in no position to speak to me that way."

"And you are Adolf Hitler," Matthew Williams drew on an unknown strength within him as he gripped the edge of the table, "You are the reason we are in this pointless war. You are the reason that the entire world is split. You are the reason that all these people are dying in this camp and who knows how many others. And you are the reason that I'm about to break one of the greatest rules of my people. May God have mercy on you and I hope you burn in Hell!"

Launching across the table, Canada's hands quickly gripped the Boss' neck with an inhuman like strength and shook him in anger. He had one shot to break the Führer's neck. One chance. He tried to squeeze as hard as he was previously capable of, but it didn't come. He had become too weak while in the camp.

Ludwig just watched, wishing it was him in Canada's position.

The soldiers appeared like they always did and had Matthew restrained on the table in seconds. Instantly, he stopped fighting and allowed them to take custody.

"My son! What has gotten into you!" the Doctor gaped in shock, unsure what to say. Helping the Boss to his feet and leading him away from the scene, he cowered, "I am incredibly sorry, mein Führer. He has never acted in that manner before. My son has never been violent and-"

"He is not your son, Mengele!" the Boss roared at the Doctor as he rubbed his injured neck, "He is a prisoner of war and will be treated like such! You will have him guarded at all times! Am I clear!"

The Doctor licked his lips and nodded curtly, "Yes sir. I understand sir. He will be under constant surveillance. My deepest apologies."

With one last huff, the Boss snatched up his hat and plopped it on his head, "I want constant reports of your findings, Doctor. Good day! Come Ludwig! We are leaving."

As the soldiers in the room saluted the Führer as they left, Ludwig glanced at the restrained nation person lying on the table. Canada now silently wept, knowing he was in a world of trouble. Sighing, Ludwig turned his back on the young nation and followed his Boss out.

His mind raced with the events that just happened and knew exactly what he had to do.

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Gilbert Weilschmidt, more commonly known as what was once Prussia and the _Preußenschlag_, shook his head before taking a long draw off his cigarette. No matter how he turned the map laid out on the table in front of him, the Allies were advancing on all sides. He glanced up to his fellow Axis Powers across from him and shook his head once more. South Italy's trademark frown grew deeper realizing the gravity of the situation. Even his happy-go-lucky brother was silent for once. But as always, Japan remained cool and collected, his eyes darting over the map for any weaknesses in their enemies.

"Well, we're fucked," Romano threw up his hands, "We're all going to get dissolved."

"Don't talk like that!" Gilbert snapped, the fear constantly pressing the back of his thoughts. He had already lost his own country as he became one nation with Germany. The fear of losing Germany was far too frightening to even consider. They had to win the war. "We'll figure something out. Are you sure that Antonio can't send anything our way?"

Romano refilled his gin glass. Taking a long swig, he grimaced as it bit at the back of his throat, "Nope. The stupid idiot is still recovering from his Civil War. He's declared neutrality. But at least that means he's not helping the Allies."

"Kiku," Feliciano tugged on his friend's sleeve, "Can't you send some people our way? Please?"

Sitting up a little straighter, Kiku shook his head, "No. I have too much focused in the Pacific as it is. Besides, if Germany would stop using all my money that I send them on trains-"

"You're going to have to take it up with Ludwig's Boss, because he and I are not responsible for that," Gilbert snapped back.

The front door opened as Ludwig stepped in his house. He paused for a moment, having forgotten about their meeting that night at his house. Frowning a little, he waved awkwardly, "Hello. Forgive me for being late. I'll join you in a few minutes."

"Doitsu! Doitsu!" Feliciano leapt up and ran for his friend. But Ludwig quickly caught him and eased him away.

"Please," Ludwig didn't meet anyone's eyes, "I just need a few minutes." Turning away, Germany rushed up the stairs and into his own room. With quick fingers, he untied his boots and threw them angrily against the dresser. The events of the day replayed over and over in his head. Seeing not only his own people but Canada trapped in the horrors of his own camps. Camps that he didn't even want. It was too much. Flopping on the bed, Ludwig released a heavy sigh.

The silence only lingered for a few moments before footsteps entered his room. The door shut.

"Bruder," Gilbert spoke uncharacteristically gentle, "What is it? Did something happen?"

Pushing himself up, hating that he was so easily read by his brother, Ludwig gripped his slicked hair, "I can't do anything! They're all dying and it is my fault! You would think that I could save just one person, but I can't. I can't even save one person…" He began to tremble as tears threatened to spill over from his eyes.

Hustling across the room, Gilbert sat beside his brother and pulled him into his arms, speaking quietly, "Shh. We've been over this. It is not your fault. This is your leader's doing. We are required by Nation Person laws to follow our leader's commands under almost every circumstance. This isn't your doing, Ludwig."

"I know, I know, I just wish I was able to help him."

"Help your leader?"

"No!" huffed Ludwig noisily, losing the battle of keeping his composure. With a shaking breath, he muttered, "Do you know Canada?"

A sad smile crossed Gilbert's face, "Yeah. We weren't close, but I knew him through Francis. Cute kid. Why do you ask?"

"He's a prison of war in Auschwitz."

Gilbert paled whiter than his hair as his lips moved, but no sounds came out. Covering his mouth with one hand, they sat in silence as he processed the information. This was terrible.

"Do they know?"

"That he's immortal? Yes."

"That he is Canada?"

"I don't think so. They think he's some super soldier, but I think my Boss knows. He's not an idiot."

Nodding sullenly, Gilbert shook his head, "I can see why you're upset."

"What would happen if you were caught disobeying your leader?" Ludwig asked rubbing his hands together.

His older brother shrugged and shook his head, "I don't know. I've never done it. But I would suggest that you don't get caught. I heard rumors that it's terrible. Why do you ask?"

"Gilbert, tomorrow night you and I are breaking Canada out of there."

**Please read and review.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello everyone! Well school's back now so updating will probably be a hair slower but I'm still going to try and get out Vigilant and N.L. when I can.**

**So to address some reviews:**

**~mysterygirl154: Though Ludwig doesn't support his leader, I'm trying to set up rules to their world. One of my rules is that no matter what it is or how they feel about their situation, a Nation Person must listen to their leader under almost all circumstances. So I wouldn't say it is fear that keeps Ludwig there, but necessity. **

**~Everyone: I'm glad you guys like Gilbert and the other Axis powers. Sorry though, as much as I love PruCan, I'm going to be setting this up for the sequel to Vigilant.**

**~Hinatacg: It will be hard for me to get the other Asian nations in there, though I know that China will play a minor role in the story later. I'll try and figure them in, but don't count on it too much.**

**~Falcon-Jade-Darkness: the bit about Canada's identity is important, because Hitler can go to Canada's leader and say, "Hey guys! Look what I got! What will you give me for him?" Also, I believe that only the nation's leaders know about them, so if it got out to the masses… well…something bad would happen. Yeah. Sure. Something bad. **

**Anyway, ready for the big break out? Enjoy you guys!**

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Getting into the camp was always going to be the easiest part. Being two very high ranked generals, all Ludwig and Gilbert had to do was show their identification. But that didn't mean it was easy for them to move around. It was about one in the morning, and the commanding officers were more than confused why the two generals were visiting so late. All the officers constantly wanted to talk with them to try and win favors so they could move up the ranks. Every moment, Ludwig felt his heart grow heavy as precious time slipped away. But about an hour into their breakout attempt, Gilbert came up with a scheme on the fly.

"Excuse me," the Prussian patted their guide on the shoulder, "What we really wish to do is just observe what goes on here. We don't wish for anyone to act differently. So go back to your duties, soldier, and just let us observe. We'll stop by your commanding officer's office and let him know when we're leaving."

Accepting the order, the soldier saluted them and hurried back to his post.

"You're a genius," Ludwig smirked.

"I wasn't an empire for nothing. Now where are we going? To the prison block?"

Ludwig peaked around a corner making sure the coast was clear before stalking towards a warehouse that housed motor vehicles and various supplies, "We have to make sure we can get out-damn! It's locked. Can you pick this?"

"Can I pick it!" Gilbert sneered and grabbed the lock, "Just break the thing!" With a good tug, he snapped the lock in two, "I still have some of my Nation Person strength. Nice."

"You're lucky no one heard that!" Ludwig hissed opening the door enough for them to slip in, "Come on. Let's hurry and get things in place."

Taking a moment to gaze through the warehouse, Ludwig nodded curtly to an Opel Blitz military truck before turning to Gilbert, "That one should work for me. You need something faster, though."

Swaggering over to a row of neatly polished BMW R75 motorcycles, sidecars attached, Gilbert tapped on the first one. "This baby is all I want. Perfect for me." Suddenly, Gil pointed as a huge grin burst across his face, "Bruder, look!"

Turning, Ludwig spotted what his brother was pointing at and smiled. A row of unused cots pressed up against the walls with pillows and blankets still folded on top in neat piles. "Good eye. I like the idea. Let's make one up."

"One decoy coming right up!"

Ludwig held up a hand and shook his head, "I'll make it up. You keep looking for anything that might help us."

"Fine, fine! You never trust me with anything," sighed the Prussian with an elongated eye roll. As his brother work, Gilbert ambled along the walls of the warehouse, checking in all of the desks and cabinets. Sliding open a desk drawer, he paused. A half full bottle rolled inside, the dull scraping of glass against wood held his attention more.

He muttered to himself, "Doesn't look like booze."

Holding it up to the light drifting in from the outside watch towers, Gilbert gasped at his discovery, "Better than booze. I'll take you with me." Seizing a spare medical bag out of a storage box, he slipped the bottle in along with a rag. Slinging it onto his shoulder, Gilbert hurried back to his brother.

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"I don't understand why we're not looking in the prison block," Gilbert whispered as they quietly stepped through the halls of the medical building. Being so late, they had been lucky to not run into anyone but one nurse who paid them no attention.

Both paused while Ludwig checked the next hallway.

Clear.

They rounded the corner and continued.

"You didn't see the Doctor, bruder," Ludwig muttered under his breath, "He lied to the Führer. He clearly had grown very attached to Canada. It was sickening watching the two of them together. I don't believe he would stick precious experiment back into a prison cell-"

Ludwig stopped.

Gilbert froze too, "What?"

"Shh."

They listened intently.

Both dove into opposite side hallways and crouched down against the wall.

The sound of faint footsteps echoed closer.

They held their breaths.

At the end of the hall, the double doors opened as the Intern, flipping through his notes, strolled towards them.

Ludwig smiled, recognizing the young man from the day before. They had to be close.

But the nation's face suddenly drooped into a worried scowl.

The Intern stopped between their hiding places. Apparently, something in his notes had caught his attention making him freeze just feet away from Gilbert and Ludwig. The German brother's exchanged glances, both understanding that if need be, they would have to take the young man out. But to their relief, the Intern found what he was looking for on the clipboard and continued down the hallway.

They waited for him to round the corner.

He was gone.

They moved.

Gilbert pressed against the double doors, easing it open as quietly as he could.

He peaked around.

Clear.

Allowing Ludwig to pass, he guided the door close once again.

They continued.

The hallway before them had five doors on each side, none of them labeled. But the air felt different. Unlike the rest of the building which stayed much cooler for medical reasons, this section was quite warm and heated. They had to be offices.

Tiptoeing behind, his crimson eyes darting around, Gilbert breathed no louder than a whisper, "How do we know which is which? They're all the same!"

Ludwig kept his eyes locked to the ground, gazing across the bottom of each door, "That man is the Doctor's assistant. If he just left from here, there is a chance that he left the office."

"Which means it's one of the doors with light coming out of the bottom," patting Ludwig's shoulder, the Prussian smirked. His younger brother had become quite smart, and Gilbert couldn't be prouder.

The search did not take too long. Light flickered under only one door. It faded from weak to strong, clearly a fire of some kind burning inside. Leaning in close, Ludwig listened.

No talking or movement. Only the faint crackling and popping of searing wood in a fireplace could be heard.

Meeting each other's eyes, the German brothers prepared themselves for anything.

Turning the door knob, Ludwig slowly eased opened the door and looked inside. He had been right. Flames in the fireplace glimmered across the walls, lighting up the otherwise dark room. With a quick check, Ludwig noticed the office was empty except for a loan figure balled up in the middle of the floor in front of the hearth. The young man, emaciated, gaunt, and frail, had only a thin layer of hair growing in on his otherwise shaved head.

Canada.

Swinging the door open the rest of the way, a sharp squeak rang out from the hinges. Canada popped up quickly, clearly started. Both German brothers jumped back scared as well. They had thought Canada was asleep.

Ludwig quickly shut the door.

Silence.

Licking his lips, Germany mustered up a smile and whispered, "Hello."

Canada pursed his lips together, his eyebrows knitting in confusion. No answer.

Suddenly, Ludwig sighed at a sudden realization. Canada's eyes had been damaged the day before. He probably didn't recognize the two of them. Lost for words about what to do next, he turned to his brother.

But Gilbert, who hadn't seen Canada yet, paled at the broken being before him. His normally vibrant, crimson hued eyes stretched wide as shock—or was it anger—shook the Prussian's frame. Fist clenched together in tight balls, he muttered under his breath, "Mein Gott…Matthew!"

"Bruder, wait!"

But as Gil suddenly stalked forward, reaching out in concern for the young nation, Matt squealed and scuttled away on all fours. Hiding behind the desk, the Canadian peaked out, trembling.

Gil stopped, his shoulders slumping.

"Good job," Ludwig nudged Gil's arm in disapproval.

"I just—sorry. I didn't think-"

"You didn't think!" hissed Germany, silencing his older sibling. Breathe. Turning his gaze back to Matt, Ludwig drew up a gentle grin once again and knelt before him.

"Hello."

No answer. Matt vanished behind the desk.

"Do you remember me? I visited you yesterday. I was with the Führer."

Canada's head peaked back out.

"Matthew, I would like to-"

"Why?" Matt spoke barely above a whisper.

"Why what?"

But the reaction wasn't one that Ludwig was expecting. Nervousness flashed through Canada's face like a student about to take major exam. He shifted for a moment before slipping behind the desk once again.

Ludwig understood, "You're not being tested. It's just a question. Why what?"

Though he didn't look around again, Canada answered, "Why do you call me 'Matthew?'"

Gilbert knelt down beside Ludwig, his cheeks flushing hot. With gritted teeth, he fought to remain calm, "That is your name. You are Mathew Williams!"

"Gil, calm down."

"Don't tell me to be calm, Ludwig! My ex-best friend's son is-"

A light shuffle sounded and silenced them. Matt crawled from behind the desk and sat in front to the brothers. With an innocent tone ringing in his voice, he muttered, "Then why doesn't my father call me that? He doesn't call me any name other than his son."

"'Cause he's a dummkopf."

"Gilbert! Quiet," warned Ludwig, noticing the Canadian scooting back and lowering his head. He quickly added, "Matthew, it is okay. We will not hurt you. My name is Ludwig, and this is my brother-"

"Gilbert," finished Matt looking between the two, "I've seen you two before, I think. But I do not know where. I apologize for that."

"Don't be sorry," cooed Gilbert, his expression softening, "There is nothing to fear. We're here to take you home."

"I am home."

Gilbert frowned again and shook his head, "No. You're home is in Canada."

"My home is with my father-"

Gilbert interjected again, "And I'm sure that both of them are very worried about you."

Once again confused, Canada shook his head, "I only have one father. My father is the Doctor that works here. He's down the hall right now working in his lab. I can call for him if you would like."

Ludwig held up a hand, "That will not be necessary. We believe you." He shot Gilbert a quick glare, ordering him to play along. Sitting cross legged, the brothers smiled at Canada. Prussia took an extra moment to adjust the medical bag draped over across his chest.

As if he was chatting with a small child, Ludwig spoke simply, "How about we play a game?"

Matthew pulled his knees up to his chest, watching them carefully, "What kind of game? I don't always like game that the soldiers play here."

"Brother," Gilbert leaned towards Ludwig, "Time."

"I know, but we need him to trust us."

But Gilbert shook his head, opening the bag he carried, "This is why you should put more faith in me. I was prepared for this." Taking out the bottle and rag he had found in the warehouse, Gil popped off the cork and poured the colorless liquid into the cloth. Tossing it to Matt, who made no move to catch it, the Prussian pointed to it, "The game is to identify that smell."

Matt stared wide eyed at the rag as if it was a poised snake ready to bite him. Almost fearfully, he whispered, "Do I have to play?"

Gil nodded and made sure to speak extra calm, "Yes. I promise it will not hurt you."

With trembling fingers, the Canadian picked up the cloth and held it to his nose.

Springing forward, Gilbert tackled Matthew to the ground. With a firm hand, he held the rag in place over the young man's lower face.

Matt's muffled squeals could barely be heard by Ludwig, who just watched in amazed horror as the prisoner tried and failed to fight off the Prussian. He knew what Gilbert had put on the rag. Shaking his head, it wasn't quite the method he had wanted to use on the abused prisoner. Though, it did make it easier to move Matthew.

Eyes drooping, Canada's hands slowly slipped away from Gilbert's shoulders and dropped to the floor. A few moments later, he was unconscious.

"Where on earth did you find chloroform?" Ludwig growled pulling Gilbert to his feet.

"In the warehouse. Don't give me that look," Gil rolled his eyes as he corked the bottle before slipping it and the cloth back in his bag, "We don't have time for your Kum-bah-ya, 'let's learn to trust each other' bullshit. Let's wrap him up and just go already!" Gently scooping up Matt bridal style, Gilbert held the Canadian close to his chest protectively.

Ludwig gawked for a moment. Rarely did Gilbert show much compassion for anyone but himself. But he didn't have time to be amazed. Spotting a blanket draped over the back of the couch, he snatched it up and tossed it over Canada's form.

Leading the way to the door, Ludwig opened it and stepped out into the hall first.

Gil followed him out.

Ludwig shut the door.

"What are you doing in my office?"

The German brothers spun around.

At the end of the hallway stood the Doctor and the Intern, both glaring suspiciously towards the covered up bundle in Gilbert's arms.

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**Please Read and Review**

**I tricked you! You really thought they would get out in just one chapter. Haha!  
**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you all for your time and patience while I was gone. Rent went really well in case you were wondering. I had an awesome time stage managing. Though, it was bittersweet, because it was my last show SMing in college. Plus, it is my favorite musical. But now I'm back to writing. I will have a new chapter of N.L. up (hopefully) before the week is over.**

**Thank you for all the well wishes on the play guys!**

**To address some reviews:**

**~Brinda Takashuno: That was one of the best compliments ever. If you can't finish reading the piece, then I'm doing something right. Thank you.**

**~Everyone: I'm sorry this isn't a PruCan fic but you will have plenty of moments for them. I want Gilbert to come across as an older figure when it comes up to actually treating Matt.**

**I have to apologize now, you won't find out what happens to Matt, Gilbert, and Ludwig in this chapter. We're hopping to the Allies! On to the story!**

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Australia stuffed the last folder with the right document and tossed it on his desk. Leaning back in his chair, he stared out the high windows in the work room. The sun was setting over London giving the city a look as if it was on fire. Thank goodness it wasn't, long put out since the last air raid. All the walls, the bricks, the metal made him yearn for his wild and open home near the Outback. Spending the last year in England made Australia miss the sand, kangaroos springing across the plains, and fresh air.

Across the table, Turkey grunted catching the Aussie's eye. Turkey closed the last of his files and tossed it on the pile. Scratching his head, Turkey yawned and stood up.

Australia frowned as the masked man sauntered towards the door. Smacking his hand on his desk, Australia spoke in a low, irritable tone, "I do not like you!"

Turkey stopped and turned back, his mask glowing in the orange light almost as if he could shoot fire from his eyes. "Oh?" he answered in a calm voice. "I'm sorry." He headed for the door once more.

"STOP!" Australia leapt to his feet, "I'm speaking to you!"

"Look, kid, hasn't anyone ever told you not to scream at your elders?" replied the Turk, facing the young man again. He stared down the Aussie a few more moments before replying, "I don't recall ever doing anything to you. Please, enlighten me."

"Coward!" snarled Australia, trying not to lose his nerve, "You're a coward! My people have been in this war since the beginning. They have been dying in trenches for years. Here you come along when we're finally advancing, and we have the Axis on the run-"

"I've only been a republic for twenty years."

"That doesn't matter," the Aussie interrupted, trying to keep control of the situation, "It's the way you came in. It was like… It was like you were waiting for the Americans to ride in on their white submarine and save us all! Now you come in, lose a few men, and you get some of the spoils while my men have sacrificed their lives all this time! It makes you a coward."

"A coward with spoils," Turkey chuckled and strode out of the room.

The silence nearly crushed the Australian as he stared speechless at the closed door. Screaming out, he smashed his fist down on his desk, the chunks splintering around his fingers. Shaking out the slivers of wood, he stormed from the room making sure to go in the opposite direction away from the Turk. He needed air. He needed to walk off his anger and get out. Rubbing his eyes, he rounded a corner and bumped into his brother.

"Oh, Cody," Alfred smiled, the corners not quite spanning his face, "Sorry buddy, I didn't see you there. Are you done for the day?"

Cody nodded, hoping his face wasn't still flushed from his tantrum. Alfred had enough on his plate to have to deal with Cody's fit. "Yeah, I was going to head back to my flat soon." Noticing the map in Al's hand, he added, "Are you going to a meeting? This late in the day?"

"Yeah, China just got in. He was delayed because of… well, war stuff," Al said stepping around his younger brother, "But I have to run. There's England and France now. See ya!"

Australia watched America join his fellow Allies, studying their forms. Though he was the Hero, the last eight months America became more fidgety and scattered. He constantly would stare out the window towards the Southeast and watch the horizon. England tried not to show his distress, but being under his crown, Australia could feel the worry. It wasn't coming from England, but from Arthur himself. Then there was France. A few weeks ago, Australia went to gather the left over folders from meeting room. From outside, he heard sobbing inside. Cracking open the door, he peaked in. Collapsed on the table was France, sobbing alone. Over and over, he muttered the same name.

Mathieu.

Eight months ago, his older brother Canada left on a secret mission to Germany. At first, the other Allies were of course worried, but it never affected their daily lives. Though one day, it changed. America, England, and France constantly gathered any information from the Canadian troops about their well being. The troops were strong even without their country. All information from Germany was closely examined in secret as if they were searching for the meaning of life. Australia knew they were looking for Matthew.

One night two months ago, Australia had cornered America. Pushing him into an empty room, Cody narrowed his eyes at his brother. "What's going on? You are hiding something from me. What happened to Matt?"

Alfred's shoulders slumped, his eyes trying to avoid looking to his brother. In a low voice, he muttered, "Cody, Matt died."

The Aussie opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. His eyes wide, he was unsure what to answer with first. "But how?" he started, "Matthew's a nation. He can't… how did… I don't understand what you mean."

"He came back to life," Alfred turned away, strolling to the southeast window as if Matthew was waiting outside for them. "I can feel him because we share a border. Arthur and Francis can too since he was under both of their crowns. But I doubt anyone else could feel his death. Did you?"

Cody glanced at the floor and shrugged, "Whenever I thought of Matt, I had a bad feeling, but nothing more than that."

Alfred leaned his forehead on the pane and squeezed his eyes shut, "That's why we've been so worried. The three of us… he keeps dying! And we always feel it! He's constantly dying over and over again!" Cody froze, watching his proud, strong older brother—the Hero—as his shoulder started to shake. Alfred F. Jones covered his face. "I can't save him, Cody! I don't know where he is! What if the enemy has him? That's dumb. Of course they have him! And he's suffering, and it's all our fault. We sent him on that stupid mission. Sweet, calm Matt who hates to fight… we sent him to Hell…" Slumping to the floor, Alfred's body racked as he lost it. He curled up and whimpered on the floor as the tears came. Cody, too surprised and frightened to act, had turned and rushed out the door.

Shaking his head at the memory, Australia strolled back towards the workroom. He never knew what to say to his aching family, never knew how to help them. So, he just did his job and followed orders. _Just like Matt would have,_ he thought pushing open the door. He smirked a little. In the first Great War, Matt always reminded him that his job was to support England and the other Allies. _"Keep your head down, Cody, and your mouth shut!"_ Matt would say, _"Arthur will take care of us. Everything might seem crazy and terrible now. But in time, the sun will shine again, and we'll go home. Our boys will be proud to have fought whether we win or lose. As long as peace comes, the darkness is worth fighting through."_

Cody smirked.

Turkey hadn't returned to the work room. Thank God. Australia snatched his bag from the chair and draped it over his shoulder. Shuffling over to the door, the phone on his desk rang. He glanced back, and shrugged. It was after hours. Whoever it was probably wasn't important.

He took a few more steps as the phone's shrill rings continued to break the silence.

_Cody._

He stopped and looked back. The phone shook with each ring. Calling out to him. He had to answer. It was important.

Snatching it up, he fell on his desk and cursed as his knee smacked the drawer handle, "Hello! Hello, Hello!"

There was silence over the line except for the slight crackling. This call was long distance.

"Hello!" Australia demanded again, "This is… this is Cody Kirkland. Is someone there?"

"Australia?" a thick, deep German accent asked.

Cody swallowed hard, "Yes?"

"I'm instigating Rule 29 of the Nation People. Do you accept?"

Moments later, Australia sprinted down the hall, dodging other people as they left for the day. Shouldering open the door to the meeting room, he cried out as the five other Allies stared at him, "Arthur! Arthur! You need to come here!"

"Excuse me, Australia?" England stood up with a swift click of his boots, "We are in a meeting here. You will address-"

"England! Shut up and come with me!" Australia snapped pointing out the door, "You have to take this phone call. He wants to speak with all of you!"

Russia stood up, clearly ready for a change of action, "Who?"

"Germany!"

With one look, they all stood and hurried down the hallway following the Australian. Gathering in the work room, England connected the phone to an intercom system for all the Allies to hear. Meeting Cody's eyes, Arthur nodded to his frantic ward as if to say it was all okay now. Arthur was in control of the situation.

Picking up the receiver, he spoke in a calm voice, "This is Arthur Kirkland. Who is this?"

"This is Ludwig Weilschmidt, and I wish to instigate Rule 29 of the Nation People. Do you accept?"

America tapped China on the shoulder, "What's that?"

"Don't you read the rulebook, aru?" China rolled his eyes.

America shook his head.

China answered in an irritated tone, "Rule 29 allows us Nation People to meet and discuss issues without the influence of our leaders, aru. If Arthur accepts, he will force us all to act as ourselves. Anything that happens here will not be on record, and the information cannot be used against us in times of war or politics, aru."

"Oh yeah," America smirked as if he knew the whole time.

Swallowing hard, England nodded, "I accept. For the rest of this conversation, I will be acting as Arthur, not England. As will Alfred, Yao, Ivan, Francis, and Cody. Do you accept?"

Ludwig cleared his throat, "I accept as well. I will be Ludwig, and my brother who is with me will not be Prussia. He will be Gilbert."

"Traitor," Francis hissed under his breath.

Arthur quickly hushed him, "What business do you have Ludwig?"

"We have Matthew, your Canada."

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**And how they escape will be in the next chapter! Please Read and Review! (and I like fanart!)  
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	9. Chapter 9

**Hey everyone! Thank you, thank you, thank you everyone for your patience with me the last few months especially with this story! N.L. and Trainer, Coordinator, and Breeder are so much easier to write. Vigilant just takes so much mental energy out of me, and I just couldn't do it with school. But now, I'm a college graduate! Woo! And….. jobless. But that's how it goes. Thank you for all the well wishes. I really appreciate them. Now just a few quick things:**

**First and foremost, HAPPY NEW YEAR! 2011! Make an amazing wish on 11/11/11 at 11:11 A.M. and P.M.!**

**Thanks for all of the feedback on the screen play (if you saw it). I have all the reviews and you guys gave some awesome feedback. I'm taking each one into consideration. I took it down because it needs more work and the beginning was the most troublesome spot. I had already wrote an original piece, but we had to write an adaptation for practice. I thought Hetalia would be easy to do, but it turned out harder than I thought!**

**EDIT: I have a new poll up on my profile. Please take a look at it.  
**

**Reviews!**

**~Canadaruxs101: I'm doing it! Don't hurt me! lol I think that's the first time I've been threatened in a review, but it made me laugh and scared at the same time**

**~Miss T Hyuga: There won't be any sex in this piece, but I wouldn't get hooked on my other ones though. It will come up in both N.L. and T, C, and B.**

**So, without further ado, here is Ludwig, Gilbert, and Matthew's grand escape. Oh! Listen to Mein Gott while you read this. It's the song I wrote the escape too. The Karaoke version is best!**

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"I will ask you again, General Weilschmidt," the Doctor glared at the brothers. "What were you both doing in my office?"

Gilbert stepped closer to his brother until their shoulders touched and held the covered Matt to his chest. "What do we do now?"

"Do you still have that chloroform?" Ludwig reached into the bag behind Gil and gripped the bottle tight. "Good. Get ready." They only had one shot at this.

"Stop whispering!" commanded the Intern. He reached into his jacket, and Ludwig assumed for a weapon.

Throwing the bottle as hard as he could, Ludwig shattered the glass on the doorframe above the Doctor and Intern. Chloroform and shards rained on them, and the men shielded their faces. Ludwig and Gilbert turned and sprinted down the hallway. Heart throbbing in his ears, Gilbert slowed long enough to let Ludwig shoulder open the doors. Behind them, he heard the calls for the guards. He knew they only had minutes, maybe seconds to get out. Gilbert's country had been gone for almost a decade now, and his nation strength depleted over time. Just carrying Matthew while running, something that would have been so simple in the past, became a laboring task for Gil. But he had to do it. For the promise he had made so many years ago to himself. The man in his arms was his future.

"There's the exit!" Ludwig slammed his shoulder into the wooden frame and burst back out into the air. "Let's go!"

* * *

"Sir!" a soldier hurried up to the Doctor and the Intern. "Are you alright?"

"Sound the alarm!" the Doctor ignored the glass on his shoulders and threw off his wet coat. "We have a jailbreak. Shoot to kill, Captain!" He sprinted down the hallway, hearing the Weilschmidt brothers a few doors ahead. He couldn't lose his son. Not now. All of his research had been poured into this one specimen. No, it wasn't about the research anymore. The Doctor had told the boy things that he hadn't said to anyone else. Unlike the other prisoners who tried to pretend to like the Doctor to live a few extra days, this boy truly seemed to care—no—love the Doctor. No one in his time working at the camp even tried to get this close.

Only God himself would stop him from losing his precious son!

Throwing open the exit door, the Doctor spotted the Weilschmidt brothers about ten meters away. The white haired one handed off a bundle to Ludwig. The bundle had to be his son. "Stop right there!"

The white haired brother cursed and sprinted away to a motorcycle with a sidecar. Another bundle was already in the car! Glancing back to Ludwig, the general eased his bundle into the truck before climbing in. Which was the real one!

"Doctor!" the Intern sprinted up beside him with several soldiers. "What should we do?"

Ludwig turned on the truck and began to pull away.

"We need to go after them!" commanded the Doctor, but he wasn't sure which to go after. If they took too many soldiers from the camp for a manhunt, there could be an even bigger jailbreak… one that the Führer would probably notice. They had to choose correctly.

"Hey! Dummkopfs!" Gilbert screamed at them as he revved his bike. A huge smirk crossed his face, "Long live Prussia, you sick sons of bitches! Come and get me!" Speeding off, he flew down the road zipping between the empty trains. It was the best way to get out of the camp fast. He had to get through the gate before any of the soldiers close it.

"Don't waste your fire! He's the decoy." The Doctor led the way to the trucks in storage. The sirens woke the prisoners and scattered the undertrained soldiers. The camp quickly spiraled out of control. "I want half of you to come with me. We're going after General Weilschmidt's truck. The other half of you, get this camp in order! I want all prisoners in their barracks by the time I'm back!"

The Intern and the soldiers saluted him before rushing off.

Slipping into the passenger seat, the Doctor buckled himself in, "Captain! Let's go!"

* * *

The man rushed from the prisoner's barrack and ran to the gate with the other prisoners. A motorcycle raced by the fences and was out of sight within moments. For a brief second, warmth filled him. With that damn smile, he muttered, "Goodbye, Frenchie."

That's when he spotted it. The soldiers had left their posts. If he ran at this moment, he could make it to the break in the fence that he had discovered a few days ago. The man turned and dashed between the barracks. Trimmel might actually make it out.

* * *

Ludwig glanced in the side mirror. The other trucks were catching up. He had hoped to get further, at least out of town. Pulling the truck over to the side of the road, he glanced to the bundle beside him. It was the end of the line. Damn.

Soldiers swarmed his truck, guns pointed at him. Hopping out of the cab, Ludwig placed his hands behind his head. Sprinting up to him, the Doctor got into Ludwig's face. He opened his mouth as if to scream at the nation, but instead turned away. It was better to wait and see what was inside.

"Sir, there are no prisoners in the truck," a soldier informed the Doctor. "All we found was this pillow wrapped up in a blanket."

"What!" the Doctor leapt up into the cab to double check.

Nothing. He had chose the wrong brother to follow.

Ludwig lowered his arms and clapped slowly, "Bravo, everyone. I am very impressed!"

Jumping down from the truck, the Doctor stormed up to Ludwig. His face flashed a deep purple, "What are you talking about! Where is my son?"

Ludwig reached into the inner pocket of his coat and took out a sheet of paper. Handing it to the next highest ranked officer, he smiled, "That was a drill. I was testing to see the reaction time of the camp in the event of a jail break. Of course, the camp has to be checked thoroughly in case there were any escaped prisoners. Though, I am impressed you all caught up to me so fast. Good work soldiers."

The officer handed the paper to the Doctor, "It's all in place, sir. General Weilschmidt does have the right to do tests like this without the Führer's permission."

The Doctor snatched the paper, reading it over and over again. He looked for any loopholes, but everything was in line. Ignoring the soldiers as they began to move out, the Doctor grabbed Ludwig's shirt. His face contorted into a weaseled toothed snarl, "I will ask you again. Where. Is. My. Son!"

Ludwig smirked and shoved him away, "It's like the Führer said, Mengele…" he narrowed his eyes, voice dropping low, "He is _not_ your son."

* * *

The blanket flew off of the slumbering Canadian. Gilbert glanced back briefly at it, but returned his eyes to the road. He had made it out of town, though they weren't safe yet. Not until they made it to Gilbert's house. It was a small summer home in the middle of the forest in north Germany. Thought to be abandoned, no one would bother them there… probably. Last time he had been there, it was with Wilhelm II. They really didn't know if the house was still standing or not. He could only hope it hadn't been bombed. Gilbert clicked the motorcycle into the next gear before looking to Matthew, "Let's get you someplace safe."

It was going to be dawn soon, and he would have to avoid the main roads. Though they had escaped the camp, Gilbert could still be caught. All the surrounding towns knew about the camp and were informed to look for runaway prisoners. There were still plenty platoons in the area moving out to far areas and passing through to different fronts.

And what about Ludwig? Gilbert bit his lip and gripped the handlebars tighter. What if the soldiers didn't believe his brother? Every new leader when they came into power received a copy of the Nation People's Rules. That way the leaders knew what their own Nation Person could and could not do. If the Führer found out Ludwig openly betrayed one of the laws…Gilbert didn't want to begin to think about what punishments could fall upon his little brother. Rule 37 clearly stated that if a Nation Person disobeyed their Boss, the Boss would decide the punishment. Knowing the Führer and what he was capable of, Ludwig would be seriously hurt.

"At least he wouldn't die," Gilbert slowed down to turn onto a country road. Once more he looked to the sleeping Canadian to make sure he was alright. "I guess you wouldn't agree with me there. Some things are worse than death. Matthew, I promise you that you'll be okay now. I won't let anything happen to you. I won't! Not after that time… Not after that promise I made…"

* * *

"_I don't see anything special about that child!" Prussia scoffed tossing his cape onto his bed. How dare this freak come into his room and start blabbing like a madman. The Prussian didn't have to worry about things like the future. He was Prussia goddamn it!_

_The man didn't look too please, "He isn't a child. Hell, right now he's older than you. Christ, was I really such a brat at this age?"_

"_Shut up!" Prussia spun around and drew his sword, pointing it at the man's throat, "You are not me! I will never be as weak as you! I am Prussia, the greatest country in inexistence!"_

_The man didn't falter and stared into Prussia's eyes. With a sad smile, he whispered, "I know you tell yourself that all the time, because you don't believe it yourself."_

_Prussia lowered his blade while his lips trembled unsure what to say. How did he know? Was this man really… from his future?_

"_Prussia," the man stepped cautiously closer to him and rested a hand on Prussia's shoulder, "Matthew will be one of the most important people in your life. He will even save your life, and in your darkest times, he will be your light. There will come a time where everyone will forget him and he'll lose his voice and start to vanish. You need to be there for him. Prussia… Gilbert… never forget him. Never forget Matthew Williams. You'll meet him very soon, but he'll be a child. He'll be with Francis."_

"_How do you know Francis!" Prussia demanded and pulled away. As much as he hated to admit it, this man scared him. It took every ounce of will power to remain tough in front of him._

"_That doesn't matter," the man turned towards the door. "Promise me you'll never forget him."_

_Prussia sheathed his sword but left his hand on the hilt, just in case he needed it again. "Fine, I promise. If it really means that much to you… Hey, tell me something. I wasn't paying attention earlier. What was your name again?"_

_The man turned back and smiled at his younger self, "Gilbert."_

_

* * *

_

Gilbert slowed the motorcycle down at the edge of the woods. The pavement ended, and he didn't want to jostle the Canadian on the dirt road. So far so good. Just as the sun was peaking up over the horizon, they had made it to the safety of the trees. Taking country roads, he had seen German troops marching in the distance on main streets, but they had been kilometers away.

Pulling off to the side, Gilbert shut off the bike. Four hours on a motorcycle was exhausting. He gently picked up Matthew and laid him in the soft grass. Gilbert released the breaks and pushed the bike off the road behind some trees. Scooping up the Canadian, he trudged up the hill on a path covered by overgrown plants.

Matthew stirred in his sleep, a small moan slipping out of his lips.

"Shhh," cooed Gilbert as he held Matthew closer to his chest. "We're almost there. I can see the house now."

The house was a one story, wood framed building. Similar to a log cabin, the brown siding helped the building blend into the rest of the forest. The only color was the deep green roof and shutters. Nudging open the door, Gilbert glanced around. A layer of dust coated everything, but other than that his house was untouched. The kitchen had a small table with a basic wood burning stove and ice box. Next to it was the living room. It had a simple set up with a couch, a few comfy chairs, and a table in the middle. On the wall hung several pictures, some of them portraits while others were photographs. One of the paintings was of Antonio, Gilbert, and Francis from their glory days. Carrying Matthew down the hallway, Gilbert passed by the only bathroom. It didn't have running water, but it could be pumped in from the well outside. His bedroom had a double bed with four tall posts reaching up almost to the ceiling. Curtains hung from the post to block out the sun when closed. Gilbert laid Matthew on the bed and covered him up. Thinking back to the day before, he wondered if the dose of chloroform was too strong. Though being a Nation Person, Matthew would recover from it. Gilbert yawned exhausted from the ordeal. He hadn't slept in almost a whole day. Pulling up the spare chair in the room, he laid back and quickly fell asleep himself.

Night came fast enough. Stoking the fire in the living room, Gilbert stood up and rested the poker by the fire place. After dosing off for a few hours, he a got up and set to cleaning his house. Matthew still remained asleep, but constantly stirred as if he was caught in a nightmare. There was also Ludwig. Gilbert hadn't heard a word from his brother and whether or not he had made it out alright. As tough as the ex-nation tried to act, he really did care for his brother.

Opening the door to the bedroom, Gilbert stopped.

Matthew was awake and sat up in bed. They stared at each other for a few quiet moments, both unsure what to say.

Gilbert smiled to him and sat in the chair by the bed, "Good morning or I guess I should say good evening."

"Hello," Matthew answered in quiet German, his voice barely above a whisper. "Where am I?"

"You're in my house. Don't worry. You're safe now."

"Where is my father?" the Canadian tried to scoot out of the bed but fell over.

"Easy now. You're still far too weak to be moving around. I have some tea brewing. Let me get you a cup. Just rest now," Gilbert stood up and helped Matthew lay back again. "I'll be right back." Trotting back down the hall way, he went into the kitchen and took a huge ceramic cup from the cabinet. He paused. It was far too big. The Canadian probably wouldn't be able to drink that much. He settled for a much smaller cup. While pouring the tea, that's when he heard it.

A car in the distance.

He put down the cup and rushed to the front door. Down the hill a car stopped on the side of the road. It was definitely a town car, not the truck that his brother had taken from the camp. A man stepped out of the car, but it was too dark to see who it was. Running back down the hallway, Gilbert spoke in a hushed whisper to Matt, "Stay here and stay quiet."

"What's wrong?"

"Just keep quiet," Gilbert closed the door and headed back to the kitchen. Picking his pistol up from the counter, he loaded it in recorded time. He peaked back out the window. The man was coming up the hill. The kitchen door was the only entrance to the house. Leaning on the wall behind the door, Gilbert readied his gun for whoever would walk in the door.

* * *

**Confused about Gilbert's flashback? Stay tuned to Northern Lights and find out what it all means! Yes, my stories are intertwined. That Matthew and Gilbert is this Matthew and Gilbert. Please read and review.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey guys! Sorry for the sudden long break. I had a family emergency to tend to and was away about three weeks. I also got two jobs so finding time between them is tough. And then you know… I have to actually write this stuff and that takes time. But I'm back now and should be back to a normal schedule.**

**I'm going to go ahead and say that this will be a shorter chapter. I'm not happy with it, but I felt like I had to get something up because you all have been so awesome.**

**I'm at a bit of a crossroads. Vigilant might take a little time to update. I had the first half of the story outlined through the last chapter, but the second half of the story I'm still musing over. That's why not much happens here. Just be patient with me please.**

**Reviews!**

**~espanamazing: That was the best review I have ever received. Thank you so much for taking time on that. I really appreciate it.**

**~FlyingLama, MizukiCheese-kun, and WinterClover: It's not important to read N.L. You'll be able to follow along without reading that fic. It's more important if you're reading N.L. to read this fic than vice versa. Since that is Matt, Gilbert, and Sadiq's future, then the events in this fic shape them. I will be writing a SuFin fic soon that will overlap with N.L. to a point where I'll be updating both fics at the same time. But for now, this fic and Vigilant's sequel will be able to stand on their own.**

**On with the show! (and this crap chapter I threw together *groan*)**

* * *

The door swung open. Immediately, Gilbert aimed his gun at the person's head. The assailant whirled around with the same intent, his own pistol at the Prussian's forehead.

They froze as their eyes adjusted to the darkness.

"Ludwig!" Gilbert lowered his weapon and hugged his brother. The German returned the sentiment squeezing the Prussian tight. Patting his arm, Gilbert closed the door and locked it. "About damn time you got here. What took you so long?"

"It's Monday," Ludwig dropped a large duffle bag on the table and took a seat. He looked so worn out. "I had to go into work. My boss would have thought that something was suspicious if I suddenly didn't show up."

"I guess that makes sense. What's in the bag?"

"Some supplies. Didn't you say you haven't been to this house in a while?" he unzipped the pack and rustled through it. "Here you go. Bread, coffee, tea, dried out ham, cheese, soap, several pairs of clean clothes for both of you, candy, sugar, and some medical supplies. Oh, and packs of cigarettes and matches for you."

Gilbert took the bread and the ham to the wood burning stove resting them on the top. He already knew what he would cook up for Matthew, "You're amazing. Thanks for this. I didn't even consider feeding the two of us."

"You're welcome," Ludwig pulled a fat file out of the bag and held it out to Gilbert. "Last but certainly not least."

Gilbert flipped through the papers, "What are these? Reports?"

"Yes, from Auschwitz. Those are Canada's files that I could find. I took them from the Führer's office." Ludwig set about putting the food in the pantry and the ice box. "And before you say anything, I'll deal with the repercussions when I get there."

Finding a picture, Gilbert grimaced at the close up of an autopsy. Several points were written on the photographs mentioning how the specimen's body was exactly like a human's. The file slipped out of his hands and papers scattered across the floor as Gilbert covered his mouth. Bile rose up in his throat. That was Matthew's autopsy. The sick bastards had opened up his Matthew like an animal to study.

Ludwig pursed his lips and squatted to scoop up all of the papers, "Grim. I know. I was looking over them on the train here."

Gilbert slid down the wood stove and swallowed hard as he plopped on the floor, "How can you be so calm about this?"

"For one, I'm not in love with him."

"I'm not in love with him either!" Gilbert sprang back to his feet. "He's my best friend... ex-best friend's son! I've known him since he was a kid. Why wouldn't I be worried about him?" Snatching up the bread and ham, Gilbert drew a knife out of the drawer. Carefully he began cutting the food into small cubes.

"Fine," Ludwig sat back down again arranging the file in order. "The second reason is I've been looking at these reports of over a year now. I've grown used to seeing them as sad as that sounds."

Gilbert just nodded as he continued to cut the food. Even though it seemed they were in the clear, he knew these rare moments of peace wouldn't last long. Even when Matthew-

"Fuck!" Gilbert laid down the knife and trotted out of the room. Opening the door to his bedroom, he smiled to Matthew. "Hey. I promise I didn't forget you were back here."

Matthew just nodded and watched the Prussian carefully. Gilbert knew that look. It was like Matthew was a small child again absorbing the new world.

Crossing over to him, Gilbert gently laid him back and pulled the covers over him, "You rest. I'm making tea and dinner for you."

"Why?"

"Because you deserve it."

"Why?"

"Shh," Gilbert ran his hand over the thin layer of blonde hair growing in. "I'll be back to check on you soon."

"Okay," Matthew weakly rolled over and snuggled into the pillow.

Gilbert caressed his head one last time before leaving the room and shutting the door. Back in the kitchen, he returned to slicing cubes of meat and bread. "So why exactly did you bring that file here?"

"For you to look over. Since you'll be staying with him mostly, you need to know what has happened to Canada so you can start helping him heal," Ludwig waved the file to catch Gilbert's attention before laying it back on the table. "We should also give it to the Allies when we hand Canada back over to them."

"Yeah about that, we need to talk," Gilbert opened a cabinet and pulled out a pot. Filled with cobwebs and dust, he frowned. "In a moment. I need to take this out to the well and wash it out. Be right back." Gilbert unlocked the door and trudged into the back yard. He had missed his summer home, hearing the cricket chirp in the cool summer evenings while the fireflies drifted through the air. It reminded him of the good days when he would ride out here with Francis and Antonio. They would drink, sleep with girls and each other, and swap stories. He didn't know it then, but life truly was both more difficult and easier then. Washing out the pot and filling it up, he brought it back inside and fired up the wood stove.

"You wanted to talk about the Allies?" Ludwig had finished cutting up the ham and bread and handed it to Gilbert.

The Prussian slid the food cubes into the water and placed a lid on the pot. He hoped the basic soup he was making would be okay for Canada. "I understand that we have to take him back to the Allies. I'm totally cool with that. But how do you plan to actually get him back to them? You can't just waltz into France and say 'Hey Francis! How's the war? By the way, funny thing happened the other day. I found your son, Canada, in one of our top secret prison and death camps that you're not supposed to know about. I was just wondering if you would like him back.' It doesn't work that way, bruder."

"I know this, but we can't keep him," Ludwig poured himself a cup of tea and stirred sugar into it. "Besides, as much as I hate to admit it, I doubt we're going to win this war. Russia is advancing too fast on the eastern front. He'll more than likely reach some of the camps soon, and they'll know everything."

"What's going to happen to us?"

"I don't know. You're older and have seen plenty of wars. I was hoping you would be able to tell me."

Gilbert watched his brother. Fear filled the young German's eyes, and Gilbert hated he had no words to comfort him. That was life as a nation person. If you lost the war, you went through either very rough times under the "care" of the winning nations or you were dissolved. Deep down he knew out of the two of them that Ludwig would probably be spared. It made Gilbert savor this time more. Forcing a sad smile, he muttered, "You'll be fine, Ludwig." Changing gears, he wiped off a spoon and took the lid off the warming pot and slowly stirred the mixture as the bread dissolved. "We have to call the Allies somehow. If we write, the letter could be intercepted. We could at least meet them somewhere."

Ludwig nodded as he prepared a second cup of tea for his brother, "We will have to instigate Nation Person laws on this one."

"Which one?"

"Rule 29," Ludwig handed the cup to Gilbert before sipping his own tea. "That way we will have more leeway to move freely."

"Sounds like a plan," Gilbert swirled his cup watching the liquid spin. "Now how are we going to contact them?"

Ludwig ran a hand through his hair smoothing down the few strays that poked up, "The only long distance phone I know of is in Berlin. It's in the Führer's office. I know he's going to be gone later this week to visit the troops."

"We'll used it then and get this taken care of."

Ludwig leaned on the counter, "Then you have a phone number to contact the Allies?"

"Shit. No I don't," Gilbert rolled his eyes. Why couldn't anything ever be easy? An idea popped into his head and he nearly dropped his cup. "Antonio! He's neutral! He might have a number for Francis. Under normal circumstances he couldn't give it to us, but if we tell him it's under Rule 29 then he'll have to! You can ask Feliciano to ask Romano to ask Antonio."

"We shouldn't get too many people involved in this," Ludwig mentioned between sips of his beverage.

"Rule 29. It forces them to be held to secrecy," Gilbert slurped down the rest of his tea and laid it in the wash bin. "It's either that or try to either (a) get our asses to France without being caught, (b) trying and failing to call Antonio, or (c) doing the right thing and following my plan."

"I hate when you're rash and right," Ludwig finished his tea and also rested his cup in the wash bin. "I have to leave to catch my train back to Berlin."

"You just got here."

"Yes, but I only took the morning off tomorrow. I'll be back in a few days hopefully with a way to contact Francis," Ludwig pulled Gilbert into a tight hug and rubbed his back. "Have patience with Canada and take your time. Don't let your feelings get the best of you."

"Ja, ja," Gilbert rubbed his shoulder before unlocking the door. "Be safe. See you soon."

Ludwig nodded and stepped outside.

Gilbert frowned before muttering, "Ich liebe dich."

Ludwig stopped and looked back. It was three words they rarely said to each other. They both sort of knew the feeling and the sentiment was there, but both of them were either too proud or embarrassed to say the words. With a truly sincere smile, Ludwig whispered back, "Ich liebe dich, Gilbert." With that he continued his way down the hill towards his town car.

Gilbert sighed before closing and locking the door.

* * *

**Please read and review this crappy chapter.**


	11. Chapter 11

**It seems like every time I start a new chapter, I have to apologize for not updating in so long. I'm not going to say sorry this time. I've had some serious life stuff getting in my way keeping me from writing. I work two jobs because my dad all but lost his job. The last few months we've almost been foreclosed on a few times, so I've been picking up other odd jobs in my free time to help pay bills. But this is just how life goes. I'm not ashamed of it. In fact, I'm proud at how hard I've been working. **

**The reason I'm telling you all this is because I want to say thank you. You all are the best fans and followers ever. To go back and read the comments with all your support the last several months just makes me feel amazing. It's a huge pick me up. I love you all a ton. Don't worry. I will NOT be dropping these fanfics. They're just going to be slow to update until things turn around for my family. Sometimes life can't be helped.**

**Another reason I've been away is because I would like to have the first draft of my book finished before the end of the year. It's stealing tons of my creative juices away.**

**About this chapter, it's probably been one of the harder chapters to write. I have everything up to this chapter outlined. I have the next five or six chapters after it outlined. But this one has always been this wobbly mush in my head, and even now I'm still not sure if it's what I want it to be. It's one of those I had to start forcing out words to get something down hoping it makes sense in the long run. We'll see how it goes.**

***Insert shameless plug here* Hey guys! I got a tumblr! I write blogs about anime, the writing process, nerdy things, and everything else in between. Since I'll probably be independently publishing my novel, I'm trying to build a fan base with a blog. *Stares at all of you* Follow me if you want. Just connect the spaces below:**

**http:/ geekygirlexperience. tumblr. com/ **

**Reviews! (This is my favorite part~)**

**~SocklessxinxSeattle: Your comment is why NL and Vigilant are partner stories. You see here Matt and Gilbert's history to make them more compatible in the future.**

**~Fuminori: I probably should rewrite the first few chapters. Between chapter one and chapter 10, I've had several writing classes. Maybe I'll get around to it one day.**

**~Everyone: I'm glad you all thought chapter 10 wasn't crappy! It just wasn't my strongest chapter of the fic. I sort of forced it out just to have something updated.**

**~Everyone: I've been playing with this idea for a while and I want your opinion. At some point in the story, I thought about making a chapter of just the nation rules. Would that be totally boring for you or would you want to see them?**

**~maniac's maniac: Spain's civil war was why they remained neutral in WWII. In my head canon for this fic which might not make it into the work, they can all still potentially contact each other. But I think their Nation People rules prevent them from doing so if they're on opposite sides. So Germany can't contact France, but they can both contact Spain because he's neutral. Like I said, that might not make it in the finished piece.**

**On with the story!**

* * *

After Ludwig's car drove away, Gilbert yanked all of the curtains closed to hide any candle or fire light from the road. He turned and spotted the thick file on the table. Everything that happened to Matthew was in there. Though he knew he needed to go through it, Gilbert couldn't bring himself to look at it right now. More than anything the overly skinny Canadian needed to eat.

Easing open the squeaky bedroom door, Gilbert smiled seeing Matt awake. He was lying in bed and stared at the ceiling. At least he wouldn't have to be startled from sleep. Matt pushed himself up and once more watched Gilbert. Everything about how the Canadian sat and stared reminded Gilbert of when he first met Matthew. The child had been new to everything European. He would stay close to Francis' side but took in the world around him a stride at a time. Yep, times were so much easier then.

"Are you hungry?" Gilbert smiled to him and motioned down the hall. "I made some food."

Matthew shrugged, but Gilbert saw a flash of fear there. Maybe he shouldn't ask questions. The Canadian didn't seem to respond well to those. For being so skinny, Matt could stand and walk on his own. Maybe he wasn't as weak as they originally thought. There were a few moments where he steadied himself on the wall in the hallway. Each step he took was wobbly as if he were a glass doll teetering on his toes. But for the most part, he followed Gilbert into the kitchen on his own.

Gilbert snatched up the medical file from the table and tucked it safely in the duffle bag Ludwig had left. Storing it under the table, he helped Matthew in a chair. But Matt didn't seem to settle well there.

Gilbert knitted his brow together, "What is it?"

"Vati usually lets me sit on the floor and not tables," he muttered weakly in German.

"Well, you get a table now," Gilbert ladled out soup for both of them. Taking his seat across from the Canadian, Gil tried the broth. It was shit, but at least it was something. Matt didn't seem to mind as he quietly sipped the steaming liquid. He cringed at every noise he made as if he would be punished. Gilbert sighed, "It's okay. You're not in trouble. I'm here to help you."

"Where is my father?"

"Why are you still speaking in German? Why not speak our common language?"

Matt paused mid-bite, clearly confused, "I don't... I don't follow, Mr. Gilbert. What do you mean?"

Gilbert leaned in speaking softly, "Our common language? The language of the Nation People?"

Still confused, Matt put his spoon back in his bowl and shook his head.

Gil would just have to show him. Switching languages to what he used in world meetings, he spoke slowly, "The language of the Nation People is a gift. It's what every Nation Person is born with as if it was a sixth sense. It allows us to speak with each other even if we don't know a language. We might not know how we acquired this gift, but we sure as hell can use it."

Matthew stared at him with both fear and amazement in his eyes.

"You understood everything I just said didn't you?"

Matt nodded as more apprehension seeped in, "Are you a demon? Vati said the Führer practiced magic and would send demons after the bad people." Tears welled up in his eyes. "I must be a bad person! I'm going to hell. Please don't eat me, Mr. Gilbert!"

"Hasn't been the first time I've been called a demon with these eyes. But you're still speaking in German," Gilbert sighed. Probably best not to push Matthew his first day out of the camp. "Look, I'm not a demon. I'm albino. There's a difference."

Matthew still didn't look too sure. He looked away from the Prussian and nodded. Returning to his soup, he didn't try to start up anymore conversations. Neither did Giblert.

As they finished, the Prussian opened the cabinet and noticed the German candy his brother had brought. That could perk up Matthew. Gilbert took a few pieces and laid them beside Matt's hand. "How about dessert?"

Matthew leapt from the chair and cowered against the wall, "No! No thank you! Please, no!" He slumped against the wall and hid his hands under his armpits. Tears sprung to his eyes as he wailed, "I don't want candy! Please! I don't want my hands sewn together!"

Gilbert dropped the sweets and squatted beside him. Nothing came to mind of what to say. How did anyone react to that? Ludwig would know what to do. Without thinking, Gilbert wrapped his arms around Matthew and held him close. Pulling the Canadian into his lap, he cooed to him and hoped it would help. Gilbert's fingers massaged his back ignoring how easily he could feel Matt's spine and ribs. "No candy then. It's okay. You don't have to eat it."

Matthew didn't respond back. He didn't even hug Gilbert. Slowly, the sobs died away until he rested awkwardly limp in Gil's arms.

Hoping he felt better, the Prussian leaned him back and forced a smile, "There now. No more tears. Are you tired?"

"A little. Can I just go to bed?"

"Sure." He helped Matthew to his feet and led him down the hall. Just like the night before, he tucked the young Canadian in bed and watched him a few minutes.

Matthew stared right back, "Where is my father?"

The Prussian reverted back to German, "You need to rest."

"Really, where is he? I haven't seen him all day."

Gilbert pursed his lips, "Working. He's working. I'm taking care of you for him. Trust me, okay?"

Nodding, Matthew rolled over and settled into the bed. With one last look, Gilbert tugged the bed curtains shut and left the room.

He stalked back to the kitchen and dug out the medical file. Flipping through the pages, he finally came across an entry with two little girls. They were twins, and they sobbed together. For a moment, Gilbert thought they were clutching to each other. But the notes pointed out their hands had been sewn together. Closing his eyes, Gil steadied his breath before continuing. In the photo accompanied with the report, Matthew huddled in the corner in the background as he watched the operation. Looking over the handwritten report, Gilbert read:

"**We lured the girls in with hopes of candy. Little did they know they would become more useful to me. I must apologize, Mein Führer. We did not find the twin gene yet. But we will keep striving for progress. You might find this amusing. Prisoners at the camp seem to have a nickname for me. They call me the Angel of Death."**

* * *

"_Romano!" Antonio snatched the butcher cleaver from the young Italian. "You can spread the butter on your bread with this less dangerous knife!" He forced the dull blade into the tiny fingers and guided Romano's hand across the bread. "See? Like that."_

"_Too much, you bastard!" Romano smacked his keeper in the face with the flat part of the blade. A glob of butter slid off the Spaniard's cheek._

_Gilbert couldn't help but to laugh at the scene. The Infamous and Great and Awesome Bad Touch Trio—as they called themselves—decided to meet in Paris to drink and catch up. Since all of their wards were roughly the same age, they thought it would be a fine idea to let the young ones play together. So far, the trip hadn't been relaxing. Romano "accidentally" smashed one of Francis' wine cabinets. Ludwig wailed because his cloak got caught on a rose bush and tore. Matthew, the youngest of the three, taught the other two how to make war paint from berries like he used to do in the New World. Their afternoon ended after they stripped down to their underwear and painted on each others' bodies._

_Looking to his little brother, Gilbert noticed the young Holy Roman Empire watching the butter scene with apprehension. Ludwig didn't seem to like violence much. Whenever arguments arose, he would try to hide or would appear very uncomfortable. How was Gilbert supposed to raise a fighting machine to be his heir if the blonde boy cried over a fucking cloak? All in good time he guessed..._

_A maid opened the door, and Francis stepped into the dining room. In his arms was the bright eyed little colony called New France. Gilbert had seen the young nation a few times, but those purple eyes still made him excited. According to his past, this boy was his future._

_Antonio, ignoring the glares from Romano, cooed towards Francis, "Is the beautiful niño awake?"_

"_Oui, he is," Francis sat beside Gilbert. He waited for the maid to pour him a glass of wine before continuing, "After the exciting afternoon, he was tired."_

_Matthew leaned away from his keeper and rubbed his eyes. Most days, Matthew wasn't too keen towards Francis. He purposely caused trouble for the Frenchmen. Like most New World colonies, they tended to not like their keepers. New France rarely talked and was very homesick. He wasn't used to wearing European clothes, eating the food, and learning the language. If it wasn't for the common language of the Nation People, Matthew wouldn't be able to communicate at all. It also didn't help that Francis tried to keep the boy away from his polar bear pet. The Frenchman was terrified of the animal. But at the moment, Matthew sat calm in his keeper's lap and nibbled on a piece of buttered bread. He looked to each of the other nations, but his eyes fell on Gilbert._

_Though the boy was young, Gilbert felt the child could see into his soul. Those eyes, the soft golden hair, the pale skin...Matthew was going to be a handsome young man one day. And Gilbert couldn't wait for it._

* * *

Gilbert poured a kettle of hot water into the basin to heat it back up. The morning started off cloudy and showed no signs of improvement. Waiting for the Canadian to wake up, he decided to heat up water in the bathtub. Matt looked and smelt like he hadn't bathed much in months.

Gilbert stood up and stretched. Catching his reflection in the mirror, he grimaced. Dark circles and bag sat deep under his eyes. The night went slow as he read what he could stomach of the reports. The last nine months weren't kind at all to Matt.

Glancing over his shoulder, Gilbert heard shuffling coming down the hall. A few moments later, Matthew leaned on the door. A bit of color had crept back into his face, but he was still very emaciated. More importantly there was no light in his eyes. Normally, Nation People could heal easily. Gilbert figured that the lack of food for so long was slowing his healing process. But the mind was a factor too. Maybe Matthew didn't want to get better or he didn't realize he was sick at all.

"Good morning," Gilbert tried to sound pleasant. "Would you like some breakfast?"

Matthew shook his head. But his eyes were locked on the basin. Gripping the door frame, he muttered barely above a whisper, "What are you doing with that water?"

"Oh this?" Gilbert glanced back to it. He knew that look in Matt's eyes. It was fear. Many of the soldiers that served under Gilbert over the centuries had the same look. It wasn't a situation to whip out the boasting awesome side of him. Right now, Matthew needed a ton of patience and compassion. But these were two things Gilbert knew that he didn't have a huge supply of. He would have to do his best. After reading the files all night, Gilbert figured that water would be problem. Apparently the Doctor had submerged the Canadian in a tank of freezing water. This next step had to be slow. "I figured that you could get a bath. How does that sound?"

Matthew didn't answer. He gripped the doorjamb tighter.

A few more moments of silence.

"Matthew-"

"My name is 'My Son.' That's what Vati calls me," he answered in German.

"You're not _my_ son though," Gilbert shot back before thinking. Holding his tongue, he slowly approached Matt. "Names don't matter right now. Look, you don't have to get in the basin. You can if you want. But you can sit on a stool, on the side of the bath tub, stand beside it, whatever you wish to do. Whatever you choose, you need to bathe."

Matthew stepped back into the hallway, and Gilbert heard a sliding sound. Peeking out, Matt crouched on the floor with his hands over his face. His entire frame trembled.

Gilbert sighed and sat on the floor beside him, "You're not being tested. I promise. You do whatever you like." He didn't mean to sound so annoyed. Once again, he wished Ludwig was there.

A steady rain picked up during the time they sat there. It pounded on the roof and echoed throughout the house. Gilbert watched Matthew out of the corner of his eye wondering what was going through his head. The Prussian had seen countless battles, watched the rise and fall of empires, and witness natural disasters torment those around him. But throughout all of that, the Nation People were resilient and fought on. It was so odd that simple humans could tear down a country like Canada in nine months. Well, the Doctor and Ludwig's Boss weren't simple humans. They were extraordinary, but in a horrendous way.

Clearing his throat, he reached inside his shirt pocket, took out a cigarette, and lit it, "Whenever you figure out what you're going to do bath wise, let me know. I need to reheat the water by now." He took a long draw loving the feeling of the smoke in his lungs. Lately though, the smoking has been winding him. It was something that had never happened before. It was another sign that he was weakening fast.

A hand appeared in his peripheral vision. Matthew held out his hand and stared at the cigarette. Gilbert furrowed his brow, "I didn't know that you smoked."

"I want you to be proud of me, Mr. Gilbert."

His heart sank. Snubbing out the butt on the wood floor, Gilbert wrapped his arms around Matthew, "I am proud of you. You don't have to smoke for me to feel that way."

"Why?" he made no move to hug Gilbert back.

"You're my friend, and I love you," he admitted and nuzzled into the soft short blonde hair. "We're going to get through this. I promise you."

With a nod, Matthew leaned back, "Can I have a bath?"

"Totally," Gilbert took it as a small victory and helped the Canadian to his feet.

After an hour of reheating the water in the fireplace and over the stove, the two of them stared at the basin once more. Gilbert was unsure how to start the next step. In any other situation, he had wanted to see Matthew naked preferably in the Prussian's bed mewing under him. But now, nothing but dirt, showing bones, and tattooed numbers would be there.

"Do I just get in?" Matt asked like he had never bathed before.

"Let's get you undressed. I'll help. Don't be afraid. You have nothing I haven't seen before."

Still in the clothes from the camp, Matthew gripped his shirt and shook his head, "This was from my Vati's work. You won't throw it away, will you?"

"It's dirty, it has holes in it, several of the buttons are gone-"

"It's from my Vati's workplace!"

It was the first time Gilbert ever heard him yell. Unsure what to do, he nodded and gave in, "Sure. You can keep it. We'll wash them, okay? Until then, will you be willing to wear other clothes?"

After mulling it over a few moments, he finally consulted, "Okay. But I need these back once they're clean."

"Got it. Let's get you undressed."

**Please read and review.**

**(This is only part one of this chapter. I'm about to leave on vacation and I wanted to make sure I had something up before I left. Hopefully part two will be up soon after I get back.)**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello! I'm back from vacation. Thank you for all the well wishes! It's time to finish up the rest of this chapter.**

**I added two future stories to my profile under the Hetalia section. Let me know what you think!**

**There's a slight nod to arkham-insanity's "Chibi Prussia Diaries" comic on deviantart. I adore her work!**

**Reviews!**

**~Everyone: I'm glad Gilbert is working out in this chapter. He's a surprisingly difficult character to write for me especially. I've been LARPing him for two years now, so he's really developed in my mind. Also, I have him developed up to 30 years past N.L. so it's like 2045. He's a complete 180 from where he is here in 1945. **

**~Everyone: Thank you again for the support! It really means a lot to me. I wish I could come and give you all personal hugs.**

**~White Mask Black Eyes: You amazing, awesome, brave person you! Listen, you might not be able to work to make money, but support your parents. That's how you can help. Root for them. Push them to keep on fighting when it gets tough. It will help way more than you know. We have to stick together. I'm glad that I can help you. If you ever need to talk, message me.**

**~Soundless Voice: I'm not sure if this was a good review or not, but thank you for taking the time to review. I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**On to the story and the rest of chapter 11! **

**(Going to work on N.L. and TCB after this so it might take a little time to come back to this.)**

* * *

"_Since being visibly 'Jewish' was an extreme liability after the Anschluss, many reported becoming much more aware of their bodies than they previously had, even leading some to wish for an _**invisibility**_ that would allow them to blend in seamlessly with the rest of the population..."_

"_The Body," in__Writing the Holocaust_

_Christopher E. Forth_

The shirt slipped from the Gilbert's fingers and his eyes skimmed over Matthew's back. Since he was one of the Doctor's favorites, he had very few injuries. Most of the grey and purple bruises were from lack of eating. There was no fat to cushion even the slightest bump. Gilbert easily counted ribs, watched the bend of spinal vertebra, spotted the shadows in the sullen clavicles. The parts of Matthew where he used to have baby fat hung slightly on his body. The rest of his skin drew taut over his frame like the animal hides he once dried in native Kanata.

Gilbert's eyes drifted down to Matt's more personal areas. He couldn't help it. This was the man he wanted to be with. After waiting centuries for Matthew to grow up and be dateable, the blonde looked like he would never want to have sex. The Prussian had seen some freaky stuff before, but no man parts should look like sun dried fruit.

"Do I just..." Matthew whispered and snapped Gilbert away from his thoughts. "I just get in, right?"

"Yes," he touched the water happy it was still warm. "I have soap and a wash rag. Let's get you cleaned up."

With a little support from the Prussian, Matthew tiptoed in. He sunk into the water, and Gilbert gawked at what occurred. The Canadian's shoulders relaxed as a weak smile peaked on his lips. For the first time since he had been out of the camp, Matthew Williams looked beautiful.

Dirt and grime floated around Matt within seconds. He lifted his arm from the water. The bottom half shimmered and was as pale like when he was a child. The top still had an ashy and dirty layer on it. Here it was. Gilbert could see bit of the Canadian poking through resembling the man he loved.

Rolling up his sleeves, Gilbert lathered up the rag and swept it across the short hair as he had seen before.

* * *

_Prussia leaned in the doorway watching the Frenchman work. Francis laughed as Matthew splashed bath water on him. The small boy giggled and sunk into the basin to blow bubbles in the water. With a proud smile, Francis lathered up a wash rag._

"_I'm so glad you came to visit me, Gilbert," he never turned to talk to Gilbert while keeping all of his attention on his son. "I know you've been so stressed with your fights with Austria."_

"_You have my back, right? You're going to fight with me?"_

"_Of course," he wrangled in Matthew and gently scrubbed his tiny arms. "Anything to have a chance to beat the eyebrows off that sniveling whelp England!"_

_Prussia nodded knowing Francis couldn't see him. Matthew was adjusting much better to life in France. The two of them had formed a close bond together. Having a 'son' around forced Francis to quickly grow up. There were just some things that maids couldn't do for the boy._

_Gilbert crossed his arms and glanced away. Should he do the same thing with Ludwig? Ever since their father had passed away, Gilbert had been thrown full force into being a nation. Even though he cared deeply for his brother, Ludwig wasn't the fighter Prussia desperately needed. So, Gilbert had left the young boy mostly in the care of his tutors and maids. _

_What was he getting so tied up about! He was the awesome and amazing Prussia! So what if his whimpy little brother cried when they never spent time together! So what if Ludwig begged for Gilbert to show him sword fighting opposed to the soldiers! So what if the boy wanted Gilbert to tuck him into bed! Prussia didn't have time for that!_

_But watching Matthew and Francis beam together tweaked something very deep inside Gilbert. He loved hearing Ludwig laugh like that. Maybe he could work on making his little brother happier._

"_Francis," Gilbert's voice sounded odd, distant, not his own. "Do you ever think about Matthew's future?"_

_Francis stroked his son's head lovingly. "Of course I do. I pray every day that he'll grow up to be a wonderful man. Until then, I hope I'm strong enough to protect him. Eventually he'll be big enough to not need me anymore, but maybe it will take a while so I can enjoy this playful little boy!"_

_Matthew gripped France's shirt, "Me, Papa?"_

"_Yes, you mon cher. You are my world," he kissed the child's forehead._

_Gilbert shifted awkwardly. He never kissed Ludwig like that. Distracting himself, he continued, "When Matthew grows up, what kind of man or woman would you want him to fall in love with?"_

_Francis turned for the first time and shot a confused glance to the Prussian, "That's an odd question. Why do you ask?"_

"_Just answer it, will you?"_

_The Frenchman watched him a few seconds before he returned a steady gaze back to Matthew. His voice clear but soft, he answered, "I would want someone that he can care for and get care in return. They could be fully dedicated in their love and cherish each other... an honorable man or woman."_

"_Honorable?" Gilbert ran a hand through his hair gripping the silver locks. That certainly wasn't him. But was it something he could strive for? Probably not. He sighed and resigned himself watching Francis clean Matthew face using one finger._

* * *

Using only one finger and the rag, Gilbert wiped away the last of the dirt and soap residue from around Matthew's eyes. The entire bathing process had been tense and experimental, but only for Gilbert. Where he assumed Matthew wouldn't want to be touch, the Canadian didn't fight at all as he was cleaned. It showed how much he had been manhandled. But having autopsies performed on you while you were still alive could take away a since of privacy. How much did they do to him? Gilbert had heard the horror stories of women, girls, even men being raped and sexually abused. Though, he didn't see in the Doctor's notes these acts happening to Matt. Maybe because he was a favorite, the Doctor wouldn't let them. Maybe it wasn't recorded...

After drying off the Canadian, Gilbert helped him dress in the clothes Ludwig had brought. When Gilbert was younger, he would try on his Vati's clothes and pretend to be Germania. The clothes were far too big for the child and slipped off of him. That's what Matthew looked like. The clothes hung on him like giant ship sails. With a strong enough gust, Matt might blow away.

Leading him into the living room, Gilbert was going to let him relax on the couch, but Matthew pulled out of his arms. The Canadian's eyes were fixed on a portrait on the wall. It was the painting of Gilbert, Francis, and Antonio posing in their old armor. Matthew's brow scrunched in confusion.

Gilbert held his breath. This could be a breakthrough. He prayed to God that Matthew would somehow get better from this.

Matthew touched the painted face of Francis and whispered, "Who is this man?"

"Why do you ask?"

"He looks... familiar like when I first met you and Mr. Ludwig."

Gilbert ventured closer and rubbed Matthew's shoulder, "Does any names come to mind? Any at all?"

He nodded and pulled his hand back suddenly. His face contorted, and Gilbert could tell he was confused by whatever went through his head.

"No..." Matt muttered and slapped the painting, "No! That is not my Papa! Why did I think of his name being Papa!" Confusion seeped out of him as he repeatedly hit the picture. Loud, hallow raps sounded throughout the room mixed with Matthew's whines.

Gilbert wrapped his arms around him and easily pulled him back, "Stop that! It's an antique! You'll freaking rip it!" The Canadian physically couldn't put up a fight and allowed Gilbert to drag him back.

But he still screamed, "I don't understand! Who is that man!"

"That's Francis Bonnefoy. You know him better as France or Papa."

"France? _France!_ That doesn't make sense!" Matt reverted back to German once more. Little by little, Gilbert saw peaks of Canada in there. He was using the Common Language more but didn't know it. Quickly, he shut down once more. "Who's the other man?"

"Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, and he's also known as Spain. You've known him since you were a child," Gilbert slowly released him.

"No! That's not his name!" Matthew rushed to the painting once more. Gilbert winced expecting him to strike it again.

But Matthew stroked the painting, his fingers lingering on Antonio's face. Tears welled up in his eyes, "Trimmel? It's Trimmel... Oh, Klaus... I left him there. I left him behind. Klaus!"

Gilbert didn't know what to do. He watched Matthew crumple to the floor and sob. Who the hell was Klaus? More importantly, how was he going to get Matthew to respond after this? He didn't recognize his own father. He thought Antonio, who had always been like an uncle, was someone else. Once more, Gilbert wished Ludwig was here.

Scooping him up bridal style, Gilbert carried him back to the room and laid him out on the bed. Matthew made no move to recognize him. He curled into a fetal position away from Gil and allowed himself to be lost in emotions.

This was too much. The man Gilbert loved wanted nothing to do with him. Storming out, Gilbert didn't mean to slam the door, but he did. He didn't mean to spot the discarded camp uniforms on the bathroom floor, but he did. He didn't mean to snatch them up, but he did. He didn't mean to throw them in the stove, but he did. He didn't mean to light the fire, but he did. He didn't mean to break his promise just to wash the clothes, but he did.

* * *

Cooking is like the military. There are set rules and recipes to follow. Some ingredients are stronger in flavor like the cavalry storming across the field. Others are subtle like scouts or snipers hiding in the brush. When you have an instinct to change the recipe, you do it and pray it works just like on a battlefield. Though his maids usually did it, Gilbert loved to cook. He decided what went in the pan, how it came out, what it tasted like. Though, it was the control while cooking that made him feel better. His world quickly spiraled away. At least he could determine how fast the ham grilled.

Mathew had been silent for a few hours now. Gilbert assumed that he was sleeping. Finishing up warm ham and cheese sandwiches, he moved the pan off the heat and headed towards the backroom. He eased open the door and pulled back the bed curtains. The last of the afternoon sunlight filtered in and shimmered over Matthew's sleeping form. His slender hand glowed in the golden light. Then, it started to fade. For a moment, Gil thought it was the setting sun. But as he leaned in, Matthew's hand faded from view. The sleeve didn't change shape, but his fingers disappeared first followed by his hand. Was he becoming invisible!

Grabbing his shoulders, Gilbert shook Matt awake too panicked to speak. The sullen and lightless purple eyes opened and watched Gilbert in confusion. The Prussian snatched his hand up and looked over it once more. It was as solid as the rest of him.

"Mr. Gilbert?" There was a touch of fear in his voice.

"Sorry!" he ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. Dinner's almost ready."

Matthew still appeared unsure but slipped out of bed. With help down the hall, Gilbert decided to change things up. He sat Matthew on the couch. While they were eating, Gil would try and bring up Francis once more. Maybe associating a good thing like food with Francis would help the process. '_Though_,' Gilbert mused as he strolled into the kitchen to fetch their sandwiches, _'that's how you train a freaking dog. I'm not sure if I can do that to him.'_ He sat across from Matthew on the couch unsure how to start up such a delicate conversation.

A far away sound caught his attention. Gilbert rushed to the kitchen window and peaked out. A car was slowing down on the road. It stopped in front of the house and turned off.

"Stay in there and keep quiet!"

"What is it?" Matt was shaken by Gilbert's tone.

The Prussian didn't answer. Just like the other day, he found his pistol and loaded it. Different from last time, there was still plenty of light to see. Coming up the hill was Ludwig with a new duffle bag strapped to him. But to Gilbert's horror, he wasn't alone. Antonio, Kiku, Feliciano, and Romano followed him. What was his brother thinking?

**Please read and review.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Hello everyone! Thanks again for reading this story. You all are the best and I love all of you!**

**I was really hoping to get this chapter out before NaNoWriMo, but sadly I wasn't able to. It was probably for the best because I was rushing through this. Now I can take much more time on it.**

**I probably won't get another chapter of Vigilant out in 2011 so Happy New Year!**

**One side note, I don't really like using Japanese phrases in my writing unless the character is actually Japanese. But I couldn't get around Feliciano calling Ludwig "Doistu." It's all I hear in my brain.**

**Reviews!**

**~DoubleyHaruhi96: "**_**Was the thing about Prussia putting on his Vatti's(sp?) clothes based off of the one chibi prussia comic where that happens?"**_** Yes, that was the reference I was going for.**

**~a little black feather: You are correct if the last chapter was from Matthew's point of view. It was from Gilbert's POV and he would know whatever Francis told him. Thank you though for pointing these things out. I like to double check my notes and research. Please let me know if you see any other mistakes on my part.**

**~Maiya123: Klaus and Antonio are two different people. Antonio just looks and acts like Klaus. But that was a great question! I should clarify that better!**

**On with the story!**

* * *

Gilbert was out the door in moments and flew down the hill. The second he could reach him, he snagged Ludwig's shirt and pulled him close. In German, he growled, "What the fuck are you doing, bruder? Why are all of them here!"

"I had no choice!" Ludwig easily pulled away. He appeared exhausted and rubbed his eyes. "When I asked Feliciano and Romano how to call of Antonio, they started asking questions. I forgot when we use Rule 29, we have to tell them parameters in times of war. I wasn't able to tell them the truth so they asked to come with me. Kiku was with Feli, and he doesn't know Europe well. I just couldn't leave him behind. And then Antonio started wondering too! Before I knew it, they were in the car with me. I couldn't stop them, Gilbert. You think I want them to see our dirty secret?"

Gilbert bit back his words. He could hide Matthew in the back room, but they were still bound to Rule 29 now. But if they broke it, who would know? Ludwig would never let it go. The Laws of the Nation People were one of the few things that bound them together. If they started throwing out the rules at a critical time like this then why would people give them any pity if they lost the war? Plus it might be a good thing to expose Matthew to more Nations… or it could scare him more.

With no answers to his own questions, Gilbert faced his friends who were joining them. Feliciano cried out in joy and crushed him in a hug. Gil bowed briefly to Kiku and ignored Romano's sneers. Finally, he met Antonio's eyes and frowned. His friend looked terrible. Spain's civil war hadn't been kind to Antonio's body. He was thinner, but nowhere close to as emaciated as Matthew. But the Spaniard still managed to smile and hug him close.

"Gilbert!" he laughed rubbing his shoulders. "Oh, amigo, it's been far too long. You appear… terrible! But hey, such is war time."

"Yeah," Gilbert stuttered unsure how to continue. "Never fun."

"I'm tired!" Romano griped rolling his eyes. "And my head hurts. Let's get the hell out of the damn woods, you bastards." He strode towards the house.

Gilbert and Ludwig both panicked and rushed in front of him. Romano raised an eyebrow questioning their actions, but thankfully chose not to speak.

The Germans glanced to each other. Though he was glad his brother was here, the Prussian realized that Ludwig was just as lost on their next move.

Gathering his courage, Gilbert cleared his throat to grab their attention. If there was a God up there, please don't let this blow up against them. "We have to tell you something first."

Feli perked up, "Does it have to do with pasta?"

"No."

"Awww… Can we cook pasta while we're here?"

Ludwig shot a stern glare at him, "Nein! Please, I need you to listen!"

Surprisingly, Feli's maturity came out sensing the situation. He motioned for them to continue.

Gilbert sought for the words to save their asses, but nothing came but the truth. "Inside the house, there's someone in there. He's sort of an accidental guest."

"But it's not as pleasant as it sounds," Ludwig added. "We're not proud of this in the least."

"No! We're not!" Gilbert clenched his fists trying and failing to calm himself down. "If anything, it's a prisoner of war."

Kiku gasped, "A P.O.W.? Is it one of the leaders or a general of the enemy?"

Ludwig shook his head, "I think it would be best if they just see for themselves." Gilbert didn't have the heart to argue with him. They turned and lead the rest of the group up to the door. Silence blanketed them as no one quite knew what was happening next.

"Bruder!" Gilbert suddenly grabbed his arm. "Let me go in first and at least warn him."

"Fine." Ludwig faced the other Axis Powers and Spain. "Just one moment, please."

Romano threw out an accusing finger, "There better not be a bomb in there! You're about to back stab us all and blow us all up, aren't you!"

"Oh my God!" Gilbert snapped. "Shut up!"

Feli caught Romano as he cowered away, "Doistu and Brother Gilbert would never betray us or lie to us."

Gilbert chose to ignore this comment as he slipped inside. They had yet to break it to Kiku that they used the trains sent from Japan for carting people to concentration camps, not war supplies. Even if most of the time Kiku was calm, Gilbert didn't want to know what kind of deep hidden rage would spill out of him.

As Gilbert came into the living room, Matthew panicked and dropped his plate of food on the floor. He froze in fear. Apparently, he had tried to sneak dinner before Gilbert came back. The Prussian held his breath watching as well. He didn't want Matthew to think he was trouble. Slowly turning back into the kitchen, he picked up the second sandwich plate.

"It's okay," he smiled creeping over and offered it to the Canadian. "I'm not mad at you. Don't feel like you have to rush."

Matthew whined and pulled away, "I was bad!"

"No, no, shhh…." Gilbert plopped beside him and brushed his cheek. "You can eat whenever you want. If you need help, call me."

Matt picked up the sandwich carefully, "So I wasn't bad?"

"No." He grinned as Matthew returned to eating. But from outside, Romano began shouting. Gil couldn't make out what was being said, but it was enough to catch Matthew's attention.

"What's that?"

"It's some… friends."

He brightened up, "Is it my Papa!" He sprung to his feet and placed the plate on the couch. "Is he finally here to see me?"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Gilbert took his arm and guided him back down. Handing him back the plate, the Prussian sighed, "It's not your Papa. It is friends of your Papa's though!"

Matthew wasn't please but accepted this. Gilbert couldn't play this game much longer. The blonde was still so attached to the Doctor. There was a high possibility of Matt getting worse if he couldn't see that damn bastard soon. Gilbert quickly added, "There are quite a few people out there. Don't be scared though. No one here will hurt you."

He turned towards Gilbert. His eyes shined the most sincere since he arrived, "I trust you, Mr. Gilbert. You've been nothing but kind."

The Prussian quietly exhaled muttering how amazing he looked in that moment. Gil's cheeks became hot. Turning away, he stalked into the kitchen and opened the door. "Come on in."

"About damn time," grumbled Romano as they all tromped through the threshold.

"I love this house," Antonio mused. "So many wonderful memories here."

Gilbert didn't listen. He hurried back to Matthew and sat beside him. Nothing could stop the churning in his stomach from the potential Hell that was about to unleashed.

Ludwig came in first. He stood in front of the Canadian and smiled, "Hello again. You're already looking much better."

Matthew opted not to speak. With a curt nod, the sound of the others stole his attention.

The Axis Powers and Spain stood still in the doorway. They gawked at the wisp of a human being before them unsure what to make of it. Out of all of them, Antonio would know the boy the most, but Gilbert noticed that he didn't recognize him. But the Spaniard's brows furrowed in confusion. Maybe there was a hint of familiarity there.

Suddenly, Matthew pointed to Antonio, "That is the man that is not Klaus."

"Very good," Gilbert rubbed his shoulder. "Do you remember what I said his name was?"

Matt shook his head then suddenly appeared very afraid that he messed up.

The Prussian rubbed his boney shoulder more, "Don't worry about it. His name is Antonio. Then those two beside him are Romano and Feliciano. They're brothers. The other man is Kiku." He could tell that the new information was starting to overwhelm the Canadian. "Don't worry about it right now. You can ask me if you forget." Matthew accepted this and returned to nibbling on his food.

"What is this!" Kiku cried out in a rare outburst. "What has happened here? This poor man looks terrible."

Ludwig rubbed his eyes, "This is what we called you here about. If he was a normal prisoner, it wouldn't be a big deal. But Gilbert and I need to contact Francis and return the boy to the Allies."

Feli stepped forward cautiously. His eyes were open and wide, "Doistu… who is this man?"

Gilbert rubbed the back of his head trying to avoid giving away too much, "We found him in one of our P.O.W. camps. He's important to the Allies, but he shouldn't have been captured in the first place. We need to establish a meeting point with them to have this man returned."

Matthew looked to Gilbert, "Who are these Allies? Are they with my Papa?"

Antonio gasped and covered his mouth. He had heard on multiple occasions the boy call Francis his Papa. He pursed his lips and stormed over to Ludwig. Opening his mouth, no words came out. He whirled to face Matthew and squinted his eyes to try and see the boy who was once there. Closing his eyes at the pained realization, Antonio inhaled and gripped his fist. He fought to keep his temper in check. Opening his eyes once more, he watched Matt for a few moments, "Canada?"

The other Axis Powers gasped realizing it too. Matthew made no notions to respond as he focused on his sandwich.

"Canada?" Antonio gently pried again.

Gilbert nudged Matt, "Hey, he's talking to you."

Matthew shook his head, "My name is 'My Son' not these other names you keep giving me."

"Dios mío…" Antonio's face flashed red. He snatched Gilbert by the shirt and hoisted him up. "What did you do! I've have seen a lot of things, but never a monstrosity like this!"

Gilbert winced as his collar dug into his neck. But it was the flurried movement behind that made him pull away. Scared, Matthew scurried over the couch as his plate clattered to the floor. Hiding in the corner and covering his head, he shivered and squeezed his eyes shut hoping no one would notice him. Gilbert shoved the Spaniard off and rushed to Matt. He knelt beside him cooing softly, "Hey now, stop trying to hide like a scared little birdie?"

"I don't like the yelling," Matthew murmured through his fingers as he covered his face. "Papa would yell, and someone else would get hurt…"

Gilbert sat beside him and tried to touch his head. Matthew pulled back.

Behind him, he heard Antonio yell to Ludwig, "I can't believe the two of you! How is this even possible? I know us Nations weaken at war time, but that! What is that? By the way he looks, if he was actually a human he would be dead!"

Ludwig nodded, "He probably would…"

"How can you be so calm!"

Romano stormed over. In a rare moment for the coward, he slapped Ludwig. The German gawked at him. Romano clenched his fist trying to blink back the stinging in his eyes, "Why would you do that to him? He was our friend… The three of us used to play together and…. And he taught you and me all about the New World, his home, where he was from." He flung out an arm to motion to the scared boy in the corner. "Matthew is our friend! You're a monster!"

"Hey!" Gilbert leaped up and rushed to his brother's defense, "We didn't know he was there! The moment we found out, we busted him out of there!"

Kiku stepped up to the fight, "And what is this place he was being kept? Hmm? To do that to such a strong nation like Canada must have taken a lot of terrible things. You say that he's a P.O.W., but that must be no ordinary prison."

Ludwig crossed his arms, "It's a work camp. Nothing more."

Antonio whirled around and glared to Gilbert. Fuck. There was no way that Gilbert could hide anything from Antonio. They had known each other far too long, and the Spaniard could tell when he lied. "You look me in the eye and tell me this is truth, _amigo_. Tell me there is not something far worse that has befallen Francis' child, your friend's child!"

Gilbert glanced to the side and muttered through buttoned lips, "It's… It's the truth."

"You lie!" Antonio shrieked. Taking a moment to calm himself, he lowered his voice in a threatening tone. "You know being neutral, I don't hear as much about this war as I would if I was involved. But there have been rumors of Nations like Poland weakening. And I mean Feliks himself, not just his people. Groups of people that vanish overnight and they're never seen again. Black smoke billows over Germany, and people say the entire nation smells of death. Tell me why that is."

Neither of the German brothers spoke.

Kiku plopped his hands on his hips, "Human beings that make up our nations are our life blood."

Heat flooded into Gilbert's face, "Shut up! You're doing the exact same thing in China! So don't you dare point fingers at us!"

Kiku's eyes grew wide. Gil had said too much. Kiku shook his head, "No… No please say that it's not that, Ludwig-san! It's terrible! The only reason I have to go along with it is because my boss says so. I would never want to hurt any person even the enemy's if I had a choice!"

"Don't you think I feel the same way!" Ludwig cried. "I hate it! It's not just my enemies but my own people too! I have no choice!"

Romano sneered, "You're still a monster!"

Gilbert lashed back, "You should talk, you damn coward!"

"SHUT UP!" Feliciano's voice boomed across the room. They fell silent and looked back. Feli glared at the group a few moments, before kneeling in front of Matthew. The Canadian panted and quivered as his eyes squeezed shut, and he covered his ears. A panic attack was wracking his body. Feliciano smiled gently to him and rubbed his cropped hair. "There now. No more screaming. _There will be no more screaming_." That was directed to the arguing nations. "You can relax. Canada, was it? You were eating before. Are you still hungry?"

"Feli…" Gilbert muttered. He was so preoccupied in defending his brother and himself that he forgot what the fight would do to Matt.

"Let's get more food," Feliciano held out his hand.

Matthew slapped it away and ran. He dashed down the hallway into the backroom.

"Wait!" Gilbert hurried after him. Reaching the door, he spotted the boy trying to crawl under the bed to hide. "Come here, you." He gently wrapped his arms around Matthew and pulled him out. Holding him close to his chest, Gilbert whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the screaming. We weren't mad at you. They were mad at me and my brother." Taking his chin and lifting it, Gilbert carefully wiped Matthew's face. "Like Feliciano said, no more tears. Geez, you got to stop flying away like that. You really do remind me of a little bird like a canary or something."

"What?" Matthew sniffled. "A birdie?"

"That's what I should call you… Birdie."

"No," Matthew rolled his eyes, and Gilbert beamed seeing some of the old Canadian come back. The old Matthew would have hated the nickname too.

"Anyway, _Birdie_, you shouldn't run. You're still so weak. What if you fell? There's no meat on those bones to cushion the fall. You might break something." Gilbert helped him to his feet and sat him on the bed.

Laying down, Matthew watched him, "But Papa said that's what made me special. I could heal from anything. I was very useful in his research. I am Papa's favorite."

Gilbert rolled his eyes, "Ja, ja, I know." He pulled the covers over him and tucked him in. "You rest some. I'm going to see what they're all up to."

"I like that nice one. He has kind eyes."

"When you can see them," Gilbert touched his head. Hesitating just a moment, he leaned in and kissed his soft scalp. "I'll check on you in a bit after I remake you some food."

"I'm already full, but thank you Mr. Gilbert."

Gilbert smirked and snuck out of the room. Closing the door behind him, he could hear the others in the living room. He really wanted to stay with Matthew, but he knew that couldn't happen. He was the only person who knew the most about Matt's current condition. Bits of who he used to be had started popping up. Those glimpses of his personality were what Gilbert kept fighting for. His love, that dear Canadian, would be back. He could still keep his vow he made so long ago. Gathering up his courage, he strolled into the living room praying they could negotiate help from their so-called allies.

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**Please Read and Review. Thank you!**


	14. What's Been Going On with Me

**Hi everyone! Sorry for the sudden hiatus. I promise it was accidental. A lot of things have been happening in my life. I suddenly have to move so I'm trying to get things packed. Once I get settled again, I should (hopefully) be fairly regular with updates again. Life happens and it sucks. Sorry for that guys! Thanks, though, for still sticking around with me after all this craziness. It means so much to me. Thank you.**

**I felt the need to let you guys know what's up especially those of you who have been with me for years. I adore all of you, old fans and new. You guys light up my life when things have been so difficult lately. So once I get moved in, you will have new chapters of Vigilant and Northern Lights. I need to rework Trainer, Coordinator, and Breeder. I overthought a lot of the battle schematics and made it tedious, difficult, and not fun to work on… which is why I haven't touched it in a year (OH MY GOD IT'S BEEN A YEAR!). I promise I haven't forgotten about you guys. I miss you all so very much! I just need to get my stuff worked out.**

**If you want to keep up with me, I have a tumblr over at http:/ geekygirlexperience . tumblr. com/**

**(just connect the spaces)**

**Thank you thank you THANK YOU for your patience. I really appreciate it**

**~~Yours truly,**

**~Hope**


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